






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































. 















































































































ENTERTAINMENT, INSTRUCTION AND AMUSEMENT FOR THE YOUNG 





















YOUNG PEOPLE’S LIBRARY OF 

1 ENTERTAINMENT 
and AMUSEMENT 


A BOOK TO DELIGHT, ENTERTAIN, AMUSE AND 
INSTRUCT BOTH YOUNG AND OLD. ESPECIALLY 
PREPARED FOR ALL SOCIAL AND HOME OCCASIONS 


SIX GREAT DEPARTMENTS IN ONE BOOK 


CHOICEST GEMS FROM THE - WORLD'S BEST POETS 

Furnishing Entertainment of the Highest Character 

CHOICE SELECTIONS FOR ALL OCCASIONS 

Wit and Humor to Delight the Most Fun-Loving. Dialogues 
Charades and Plays 


GAMES, OLD AND NEW, FOR SOCIAL OCCASIONS 

Selected from Many Sources to Please all Tastes 


DEVELOPMENT OF THE BODY 

Practical Instructions for Easy and Delightful Exercises for 
both Pleasure and Profit 


> * > .> ^ 

> > > 

> > > > ) 


A PRACTICAL GUIDE IN ETIQUETTE 

How to Behave Well, Talk Well and Write Well on all Oij!crw.<o 
sions and on all Subjects 

THINGS AND FACTS WHICH ARE FRESH AND WONDERFUL 

The Newest and Most Fascinating Information on all Subjects. 


O > > *> «, 

) o * > n 
3 r > ) 


> »J .» *4° 


> * > > 

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-BY- 

THOMAS SHEPPARD MEEK 

i * 


PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED WITH HALF TONE ENGRAVINGS AND 

SPECIAL ARTISTS' DRAWINGS 
















thFlibrary of 

CONGRESS, 

Two Ccwioe Received 


OCT :9 1903 



GO WY .8. 


r' 


A 


Entered according to Act of 
Congress in tKe year1903 by 
W. E. SCVLL, in the office 
of the Librarian of Congr ess, 
at Washington, D. C. 


All Rights Reserved 
















V 

o 


r) 

'i 


INTRODUCTION 


<3 

T HE publishers believe they are doing a service to the homes of our 
land by issuing this volume. It is more than one book. In fact, six 
of the most valuable books have been condensed to make up its 
contents. 

These six books constitute “The Young People’s Library, Entertain¬ 
ment and Amusement.” To bind them in separate volumes would put the 
price beyond the average purse. In it his combined form they can be sup¬ 
plied for less than one-third the cost of the six books bound separately, thus 
placing them within easy reach of every family. 

“ Our homes ought to be the most charming places on earth , and they 
would be tf parents and children knew how to make them sod A great man 
uttered a great truth when he spoke the above sentence. It is not for lack 
of love or disposition on the part of parents, nor for lack of love or willing¬ 
ness on the children’s part to co-operate with them, that we do not have 
more happy homes, but because parents and children dont know how to 
make them more cheerful and bright. 

The object of this volume is to put into the hands of every parent and 
child the means of making home the delightful, instructive, love-inspiring, 
friend-making place it ought to be. The world is fast recognizing the fact 
that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” and that recreation, 
entertainment and amusement are also good for the grown folks as well as 
the young. “ Come, let us all have a good time together,” says this book, 
and to those who heed, it will make boon companions and play-fellows of 
parents and children and guests, keep the sunshine warm and bright even 
upon the face of old age and quicken the blood of all who gather around 
the fireside, in the parlor, or on playground and field, where its rich supplies 
of intellectual feast, music and pleasant games are drawn upon. 

The distinct value of the various books in this library will be readily 
recognized. It begins with 

“ Fireside Gems From Our Popular Poets.” —What delightful 
winter evenings will be enjoyed where this book is read aloud around the 
fireside by one of the members of the family while others knit, embroider, 

sew, or busy their hands in some useful task. There is such a blessing in 
2 h iv vii 




Vlll 


INTRODUCTION 


poetry. This book has the real gems from thirty-two of the greatest and 
most popular poets of England and America. A source of real delight and 
entertainment in every well regulated home. 

“The Model Reciter and Speaker” introduces one of the most 
delightful methods of entertaining the family or company. The editor has 
carefully chosen several hundred novel selections arranged in seven different 
departments. These begin very properly with the “ Little Folk’s Speaker' 
which is followed by the other departments including descriptive, pathetic, 
humorous, religious and patriotic selections. 

“ Games, Amusements and Sports for Indoors and Out” supply 
the long felt need for a collection of games and amusements which are easy 
to play, unobjectionable in form, fresh and interesting for all ages. In all 
these respects this book excels all others, and offers a variety of entertain¬ 
ment for the family circle or for more vigorous outdoor pastimes. 

“The Free Hand Movements” are splendid exercises. It is a new 
departure and appeals to the young people who take delight in the proper 
use of their muscles, and in developing their bodies. These exercises 
combine both pleasure and profit and will save many doctor bills, and occupy 
in a delightful way many spare moments. 

“The Home Book of Etiquette” assists us in getting the greatest 
pleasure out of life by giving pleasure to others, and not going through the 
world in an awkward ill-mannered way. It assists every one in doing and 
saying the proper thing at the proper time. This department will suggest 
many interesting things for the family circle. 

“ Wonderful and Remarkable Things and Facts” is placed last 
for its spicy flavor afforded by the novel and fresh things which it describes— 
the wonders of nature ; the thrilling facts of history ; the magnificent works 
of man and of nature. All the unusual things which appeal to the curious 
are introduced and arranged in order so to be drawn upon for an hour’s 
entertainment and amusement. 

In Conclusion this book is sent forth with the firm belief that it will 
be treasured in many homes, and be the means of uniting the family, older 
and younger, in one bond of love and felicity by its pure and wholesome 
amusement and entertainment. 



BOOK I 


FIRESIDE GEMS FROM OUR 
POPULAR POETS 

CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED 


'Selections from Shakespeare, 

Born 1564; Died 1616. 

The Abuse of Authority.35 

The Witches.35 

Fall of Cardinal Wolsey ..... 36 

Touchstone and Audrey.37 

The Seven Ages.38 

Shylock and Antonio .39 

Hamlet’s Soliloquy on Death ... 40 

Hamlet and the Ghost.40 

Othello’s Wooing.41 

Selections from Ben Jonson, 1574=1637. 

Cupid. 43 

Hymn to Cynthia.43 

Song to Celia.43 


On Lucy, Countess of Bedford . . 43 

Selections from John Milton, 1608=1674. 

Eve’s Account of Her Creation . . 44 

Invocation to Light.44 

The Departure from Eden .... 45 

Selections from Isaac Watts, 1674=1748. 


The Rose.46 

The Earnest Student.46 


There is a Land of Pure Delight . 46 

Selections from Alexander Pope, 
1688=1744. 

The Dying Christian to His Soul . . 47 
The Universal Prayer. 47 


Selections from Oliver Goldsmith, 
1728=1774. 

The Deserted Village.48 

The Village Preacher ...... 48 

A City Night-Piece.49 

Selections from Robert Burns, 1759=1796. 

Man Was Made to Mourn .... 50 
Tam O’Shanter.51 

Selections from William Wordsworth, 
1770=1850. 

Ode to Duty.53 

To His Wife.53 

Selections from Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 
1772=1834. 

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner . 54 

The Phantom Ship.54 

The Adieu of the Ancient Mariner . 55 

A Calm of the Equator.56 

Selections from Thomas Moore, 1779=1852. 

’Tis the Last Rose of Summer . . 57 


Those Evening Bells.57 

An Ideal Honeymoon.57 


Selections from George Gordon Byron, 
1788=1824. 

Destruction of Sennacherib .... 58 
Apostrophe to the Ocean .... 58 

(ix) 



























X 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


Selections from Dorothea Hemans, 
1793=1835 

The Treasurers of the Deep .... 59 
The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers . 59 

Selections from William Cullen Bryant, 


1794=1878. 

Thanatopsis.60 

Waiting by the Gate.60 

Blessed Are They That Mourn . . 61 

Robert of Lincoln.62 

Drought.62 

The Past.63 

A Corn Schucking in South Carolina . 64 

Selections from Thomas Hood, 1798=1845. 

The Song of the Shirt.66 

The Bridge of Sighs.68 


Selections from Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
1803=1882. 

Hymn Sung at the Completion of the 
Concord Monument, 1836 ... 70 


The Rhodora.70 

The True Hero.70 

Mountain and Squirrel.71 

The Snow Storm.71 


Selections from Nathaniel Parker Willis, 
1806=1867. 

David’s Lament for Absalom ... 72 


The Dying Alchemist.73 

Selections from Henry Wadsworth Long= 
fellow, 1807=1882. 

The Village Blacksmith.74 

The Bridge.75 

Resignation.75 

God’s Acre.76 

Excelsior.76 

The Rainy Day.77 


The Wreck of the Hesperus . ... 77 

The Old Clock on the Stairs .... 78 
The Skeleton in Armor.79 

Selections from John Qreenleaf Whittier, 


1807=1892. 

The Worship of Nature.81 

The Barefoot Boy .81 


[Book I. 


Maud Muller.82 

Memories.83 

The Prisoner for Debt.84 

The Storm.85 

Ichabod.86 

Selections from Alfred Tennyson, 
1809=1892. 

Prelude to 4 ‘In Memoriam” ... 87 

Ring Out, Wild Bells.87 

The Lady of Shalott.88 

Sweet and Low.89 


The Here and the Hereafter .... 89 


Selections from Edgar Allan Poe, 
1809=1849. 

Lenore. 90 

The Bells.90 

The Raven.92 

Selections from Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
1809=1894. 

Bill and Joe.95 

Union and Liberty.95 

Old Ironsides.96 

My Aunt.96 

Selections from James Russell Lowell, 
1819=1891. 

The Gothic Genius.97 

The Rose.97 

The Heritage.98 

The Alpine Sheep.99 


Selections from Walt Whitman, 
1819=1892. 

DarestThou Now, O My Soul . . . 100 


O Captain; My Captain . . . . . 100 

In All, Myself.100 

Old Ireland .101 

Paean of Joy.101 


Selections from Bayard Taylor, 


1825=1878. 

The Song of the Camp.102 

Bedouin Song.102 




















































Book I] 

Selections from Jean Ingelow, 1830=1897. 


Seven Times One ........ 103 

Seven Times Two.103 

Seven Times Three.. . 103 

Seven Times Five.104 


Selections from Edmund Clarence 


Stedman, 1833-. 

Betrothed Anew.105 

The Door-Step.105 


Selections from Louise Chandler Moulton, 


1835-. 

The Last Good-Bye.106 

Next Year.106 

My Mother’s Picture.106 


Selections from Francis Bret Harte, 

1839- 

Dickens in Camp.107 


xi 

Selections from Joaquin Miller, 1841-- 

Kit Carson’s Ride.108 

Joaquin Miller’s Alaska Letter . .109 

Selections from Richard Watson Gilder, 
1844-. 

Sunset from the Train.no 

‘ ‘O Silver River Flowing to the Sea’ ’ . 110 
“There is Nothing New Under the 

Sun”.. ... no 

Memorial Day.m 

A Woman’s Thought . . . . . .111 

Selections from Eugene Field, i850-i895. 


Our Two Opinions.112 

Lullaby.nr 

A Dutch Lullaby.. m 

A N orse Lullaby. 7 13 

Selections from James Whitcomb Riley, 
1852-. 

Our Hired Gal.114 

The Raggedy Man.114 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 







































BOOK II 


THE MODEL RECITER 
AND SPEAKER 


PART I—THE LITTLE FOLK’S SPEAKER 


The Children.117 

Lulu’s Complaint.118 

Little Tommie’s First Smoke.118 

A Little Boy’s Wonder.118 

Christmas Has Come.119 

Little Kitty.119 

Among the Animals.119 

Mary and the Swallow.119 

They Say.120 

Time Enough.120 

The Blue and the Gray.121 

A Little Boy’s Lecture.121 

Dialogue for Two Boys.121 

A School Girl’s Presentation Speech . .122 

Children’s Day. 122 

Words of Welcome.123 

The First Pair of Breeches.123 

When Mamma Was a Little//Girl . . . .123 

The Watermillion.123 

An Opening Address . . .123 

Closing Address.124 

An Address to a Teacher.124 

Valedictory.124 

The Best of Menageries.124 

Vacation Time.125 

The Bluebell’s Reward.126 

The Boy Who Did Not Pass.126 

The Queer Little House.126 

A Boy’s Lecture on Knives.126 

PART II—NARRATIVE AND 

Bill Mason’s Bride ..139 

Little Breeches.140 

xh" 


George Washington.128 

“Boy Wanted”.128 

What a Boy Can Do.128 

Baby’s Logic.128 

A School Idyl.129 

A Fourth of July Record.129 

Days of the Week.129 

If I Were You.130 

What to Drink.130 

The Blessed Ones.130 

Twenty-Third Psalm.130 

Remember, Boys Make Men.131 

Tale of a Dog and a Bee.131 

When Father Carves the Duck.131 

Questions About Women.132 

An Easter Bonnet.132 

The Missionary Hen. 132 

Song of the Rye.133 

A Bough Rider at Home.133 

Her Papa.134 

Army Diet. 134 

The Spanish War Alphabet.134 

The Price He Paid.135 

Johnny’s Opinion of Grandmothers . . .135 

The Fairy People Spinning.136 

True Bravery.136 

Grandpa’s Aversion to Slang.137 

Measuring His Generosity.138 

Tiddle-de-Winks Ride.138 

DESCRIPTIVE SELECTIONS 

Daniel Peri ton’s Ride.140 

Aunt Polly Green.142 
































































±SOOK II.J 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


XII) 


Pompeii . . . 
The Fire-Fiend . 


143 Changing Color 

144 Little Meg and I 


145 

146 


Poor Little Jim 
“ Limpy Tim ’ ’ 

To Mary in Heaven 
The Dying Boy 
The Singer’s Climax 
The Progress of Madness 

PART IV 

Was it Job That Had Warts on Him 

Baby in Church. 

De Campane ob Nineteen-Hundred 

Man and the Mosquito. 

Reverie in Church. 

Helen’s Babies on Noah’s Ark . . 

Kentucky Philosophy . 

How “Ruby ” Played 
When We Get There 
The Owl Critic 

The Case of Gunn vs. Barclay 
Casey at the Bat . 

When Huldy ’Spects Her Beau . . . .168 


Der Drummer.169 

Paddy’s Reflections on Cleopatra's Needle 169 

Buck Fenshaw’s Funeral.170 

Leedle Yawcob Strauss.172 

Hans and Fritz.172 


The Dying Confession of Paddy McCabe . 173 


Mollie’s Little Ram.174 

Manifest Destiny.174 

The Comet.175 

01 ’ Pickett’s Nell.176 

Admiral Von Diederichs.177 

An Apostrophe to Aguinaldo.177 

The Drummer.178 

Then Ag’in.179 

Marc Anthony’s Original Oration . , . .180 

Counting Eggs.. 181 

The Baby’s First Tooth.181 

A Serenade To Spring.182 

Theology in the Quarters.183 

What the Little Girl Said.183 

The Bell-Wether and the Deacon .... 184 

A Most Obliging Little Sister.185 

Baby’s Soliloquy.186 


PART III—PATHETIC SELECTIONS 

On the Other Train.132 

The Gambler’s Wife.153 

The Old Spinster.134 

Nobody’s Child.135 

In the Bottom Drawer.136 


148 

149 

149 

150 

150 

151 


HUMOROUS READINGS AND RECITATIONS 


157 

157 

158 

*59 

160 

161 

162 

163 

165 

166 

167 

168 


PART V—TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS 


The Cost of the First Drink.187 

The Face on the Floor.187 

Appeal for Temperance.189 

The Men Behind the Vote.189 

The Power of Habit.190 


A New Declaration of Independence . .190 


What is Minority ? . . . 

A Brave Boy. 

The Two Glasses . . . 
The Drunkard’s Daughter 
Pledge with Wine . . . 


192 

193 

194 

195 

196 


PART VI—RELIGIOUS AND MORAL RECITATIONS 


God Is Calling Me.198 

The Crucifixion.. . 198 

Clipping the Bible.198 

The Christian-Martyr.199 


The Brotherhood of Man.199 

A New Ten Commandmendments . . . 200 
Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be 

Proud ?.200 



































































XIV 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


[Book II. 


The Glories of the Life Beyond . . . .201 
The Books of the Old Testament .... 201 

Building and Being.201 

Brought in Papa’s Prayers.202 

How Prayer Was Answered.203 

No Religion Without Mysteries .... 203 

Rizpah .204 

Shall We Know Each Other There . . . 205 

How the Organ Was Paid For.205 

An Apostrophe to the Mountains .... 206 

One Touch of Nature.207 

No Sects in Heaven.207 

Papa’s Letter.209 

The Cynic.210 

Advice to Young Men . ..210 

The Last Hymn.211 

The Bravest of Battles.211 


Influence of Small Things.212 

Don’t Be in a Hurry.212 

Apostrophe to Niagara. 213 

Good Old Mothers.213 

The Funeral.213 

Wanted—A Minister’s Wife.214 

Forgiveness.215 

Advice to a Young Man.215 

Tact and Talent.216 

After Twenty Years.217 

Stick to Your Bush.217 

We Are Not Always Glad When We Smile 218 

Pegging Away.218 

Life Is What We Make It . . . . , . .219 

Good Nature.219 

Don’t Fret.220 


PART VII—SELECTIONS ON PATRIOTISfl AND WAR 


Highland War Song. 

The Watch by the Rhine. 

The German’s Fatherland. 

German Battle Prayer. 

The Love of Country. 

America an Aggregate of Nations . . . . 
The American Union a Geographical 

Necessity . ... . 

Union Linked with Liberty. 

Liberty and Union One and Inseparable. 
The Battle Hymn of the Republic . . . 

Marseillaise Hymn. 

The Spanish Patriot’s Song. 

God Save the King. 

God Save the Queen. 

The “ Recessional ”. 

Marching to Cuba. 

The “ Maine,” Red, White and Blue . . 

Reveille . . . . . 

Dirge of the Drums. 

A Mother’s Lament. 

Saul Before His Last Battle. 

Washington to His Soldiers. 

The Fourth of July. 


221 

221 

222 

222 

223 
223 

223 

224 

225 

225 

226 

226 

227 
227 

227 

228 

228 

229 
229 

229 

230 
230 
230 


The Hero of the Commune.231 

Men Always Fit For Freedom.231 

Napoleon’s Farewell to His Army at Fon 

tainebleau, 1814.232 

Incident of the French Camp.232 

The Queen of Prussia’s Ride.233 

Marco Bozzaris.233 

Charge of the Light Brigade.234 

Peaceable Secession Impossible .... 235 
Lincoln’s Address at Gettysburg .... 235 

The Rifleman’s Fancy Shot.235 

An Incident of the War.236 

Sheridan’s Ride.237 

Wrap the Flag Around Me, Boys .... 238 

The Blue and the Gray.238 

The New Rosette.239 

Custer’s Last Charge.240 

Fitzhugh Lee.241 

Objection to the Mexican War.242 

Gustavus Yasa to the Dalecarlians . . . 242 

The Baby and the Soldiers.242 

On the Force Bill.243 

The New “Alabama”. 244 

The “ Merrimac ”.. 2 aa 






































































Book 11. J 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


“ Do Not Cheer ” 

The Hero Down Below 
Wheeler at Santiago 
Dixie Doodle .... 
The Greater Republic 


. 244 

• 245 

• 245 

. 246 
. 246 


Bound in Honor to Grant Philippine Inde¬ 
pendence . 


247 


No Dishonor to Haul Down the Flag 

The Dying Captain. 

The Land of Our Forefathers . . . 

War the Game of Tyrants. 

Valley Forge. 

The Man Who Does the Cheerin’ 

The Flying Squadron. 

Song for Our Fleets. 

Picture of War. 

Bernardo Del Carpio. 

The Roman Sentinel. 


. . 248 
. . 249 

• • 250 
. . 250 
. . 251 

• • 252 
. . 252 

• • 253 

• • 253 

• • 254 

• • 255 


Prophetic Toast to Commodore Dewey ' . 257 

The Battle of Manila Bay.257 

Heroic Example Has Power.258 


X V 


International Sympathies on the Increase 

Washington’s Birthday. 

The Home Voyage. 

The Death of Queen Victoria 

The Life and Reign of Queen Victoria 

Colonial Union of Canada. 

Empire First. 

An Ode for the Canadian Confederacy . . 

The Confederation of Canada. 

They’ll Never Get Home. 

The War Ship “Dixie”. 

Expositions the Timekeepers of Progress . 

Prosperity and Co-operation . 

Reciprosity Favored. 

The Personal Character of William Mc¬ 
Kinley . 

Elements of Roosevelt’s Greatness . . . 

Memorial Day. 

Decoration Day. 

Together .... *.. 


258 

25? 

25$ 

260 

260 

261 
263 
263 

263 

264 

264 

265 

265 

266 

266 

267 

267 

268 
268 











































BOOK III 


GAMES, AMUSEMENTS 
AND SPORTS 

FOR INDOORS AND OUT 


Value of Amusement.271 

Football.271 

Scoring in Football.273 

Baseball.273 

Cricket. 274 

Golf. ..275 

Hockey.276 

Polo.277 

Basket Ball.277 


Lacrosse. ...277 

Lawn Tennis.278 

Croquet .*.278 

Quoits.279 

Bowls (Nine or Ten Pins).280 

Shovel or Schuffle Board.280 

Curling.281 

Archery.281 


ATHLETIC SPORTS 


Sprinting. 


Putting the Weight. 


Quarter-mile Race . . . 


Throwing the Cricket or Baseball . 

. • 283 

Mile Racing .... 


Walking. 


Hurdle Racing .... 


Training.• . . . 

. . 284 

Jumping. 


Other Forms of Exercise. 


Throwing the Hammer . 

.283 

ii 

Cycling. 

„ . 284 


PLAYGROUND GAMES 


Marbles. 


Battledore and Shuttlecock .... 


Tops. 

.285 

Graces or Grace Hoops. 

00 

N 

• 

* 

Peg-in-the-Ring .... 

.286 




INDOOR AMUSEMENTS 


Acting Proverbs .... 


Hunt the Ring. 


The Adjective Game . . 

.288 

Hunt the Whistle. 


Consequences .... 

.288 

Blind Man’s Buff. 


The Clairvoyant .... 

.2 88 

Shadow Bluff. 

. . 290 

Twenty Questions . . , 


Simon Says. 

. . 290 

Magical Music .... 


How do You Like Your Neighbor? . 

. . 29O 

The Magic Hats .... 


How, When and Where. 


Hunt the Slipper . . . 


] Forfeits. 



xvi 























































1 >k ruK IIIJ 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


xvii 


Characteristics. 

A Trip Around the World . 
A Penny for Your Thoughts 
The Dinner Table . . . . 
The Flower Basket . 


292 

292 

2 93 
2 93 
2 93 


Initials. 

Progressive Initials 
Charades .... 
Tableaux Vivants 
Comic Tableaux . 


• 2 94 

• 2 94 

• 2 94 

• 295 

• 296 


SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS 


Election of Officers .... 
Duties of Officers ..... 
Parliamentary Law at a Glance 
Hints for Literary Clubs . . . 


300 

3 01 

301 

302 


The Duty of Members. 

How to Organize a Literary Society 

Constitution. 

Public Speaking. 


. . 302 

• • 3°3 

• • 303 

• * 304 


MISCELLANEOUS GAMES 


Jingling. 

Tierce . 

Sling the Monkey. 

Tag. 

1 ‘ Knights ”. 

An Imitation Cock-Fight . . 

Tug-of-War. 

Leap-Frog or Spanish Fly . . 

Fly the Garter. 

“Duck on a Rock” . . . . 

Nine Holes. 

Hop-Scotch. 

The Bean-Shooter or Catapult 

Cross-Bow. 

Hare and Hounds. 

Handball. 


305 

306 
306 

306 

307 

308 

308 

309 

309 

309 

309 

310 

3 IQ 
3 i 1 

3 1 1 
3 ii 


How to Play Real Golf on a Five Acre 

Meadow.313 

Aerial Archery Game.3^ 

Puff and Cart.313 

Ring the Bull.3x6 

Jack’s Alive.3x5 

Royal Star.3x6 

Revolving Ring.3x8 

Cup and Ball.3x3 

The Whizzer.3x9 

Lawn Cupolette.3x9 

Parlor Ringolette.319 

The New Cudgel Game. *320 

Stage-Coach.320 

My Lady’s Toilet.320 

Jack-straws.321 


GAMES TO STIMULATE THE IMAGINATION 


German Dwarf.321 

A Spectre Lamp : A Party Pastime . . .322 

Freight.324 

Head, Body and Legs.324 

The Giant.325 

A Cheap Way of Being Generous . . . . 326 
The Famous Mountebank Trick .... 326 


Bringing Colored Ribbons from the Mouth 326 


Curious Watch Trick.326 

Plumes for the Ladies.327 

The Ink and Fish Trick.327 

Evanescent Money.327 

The New Game of Roque.327 































































XV111 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


BOOK IV 

FREE HAND MOVEMENTS 


EXERCISES FOR DEVELOPING THE BODY 
PRESERVING THE HEALTH 


Value of Exercises (Introductory) . . 333 
Exercises for Head and Neck . 

a. Head Torsion 

b. Head Bending 

c. Head Bending Sidewise 

d. Head Rotation . . . 

Exercises for the Trunk 

a. Trunk Bending Forward and Back- 


b. Trunk Bending Sidewise.335 

c. Trunk Rotation.335 

Shoulder and Arm Movements . . . 335 

a. Shoulder Movements. 335 

b. Arm Raising Sidewise. 335 

c. Arm Spreading. 335 


d. Arm Rotation.335 

e. The Mill.336 

f. Arm Bending and Stretching . . . 336 

g. Arm Thrust.336 

h. Beating with the Forearm .... 336 

i. Hand Bending and Stretching . . . 337 

Exercises for the Legs . 337 

a. Leg Raising.3 37 

b. Leg Swinging Forward and Backward 337 

c. Leg Torsion.338 

d. The Deep Knee Bend. 33 ^ 

e. Knee Raising and Leg Stretching . 338 

f. Raising the Lower Leg.338 

g. Standing on the Toes.339 


• • 334 
334 
334 
334 
334 
334 


n 









































BOOK V 


THE HOME BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


General Principles of Good Manners . . 343 


The Art of Conversation.343 

Avoid Heated Argument.344 

Consider the Feelings of Others .... 344 

Care in the Use of Witticisms. 345 

All Can Be Agreeable. 345 

A.void Referring to Your Own Exploits . 345 

Other Rules Worth Observing.346 

A Winning Manner.346 

Principles of Politeness. 347 

Good Breeding.347 

The Demeanor of a Lady.34^ 

Incivilities to be Avoided.349 

Flirtation.349 

Demeanor of a Gentleman.350 

What Constitutes Gentlemanly Manners . 350 

The Demands of Etiquette.351 

Etiquette of Travel.351 

The Art of Dress. 35 2 

A Well Dressed Woman.352 

Dress for Various‘Occasions.352 

Suitability of Apparel.353 

Public Occasions.353 

Jewelry.354 

Traveling Dress. 354 

A Well Dressed Man.354 

Appropriate Costume.355 

The Shirt Waist.356 

Introductions.356 

The Introducer’s Formula.357 

Salutations.358 

Calls, Formal and Informal.358 

Ending a Call. 359 

Visiting and Visitors.360 

Evening Calls.360 

Entertaining Guests.361 

Bidding Guests Adieu.361 

Engraved or Printed Cards.36^ 

Rules for Leaving Cards.362 

Balls and Evening Parties.363 

Subscription Dances.364 

The Dressing Room.364 

The Question of Toilette.365 


In the Ball-Room.365 

Requests to Dance.366 

In the Dance.366 

Taking Supper.367 

After the Ball.367 

Breakfast, Luncheon and Tea ..... 367 

Luncheon.. . 368 

Teas and Afternoon Receptions .... 368 

Suppers . ..369 

Picnics.369 

Theatre Parties.. 369 

Chaperons.370 

Banquets and Dinners.370 

Choosing Guests ..370 

Duties of the Hostess.371 

Arranging the Table.371 

Placing the Table-ware . •.372 

Dress.372 

Entering the Dining Room ...... 372 

The Dinner.373 

Dinner Courses.373 

fter the Courses.. . . 374 

Retiring from the Table.374 

General Hints.375 

Wines.375 

Dinners at Restaurants.375 

Courtship and Marriage.376 

Wedding Preliminaries.377 

Bridal Gifts.377 

Flowers.378 

The Bridesmaids.378 

The Groomsmen.. 378 

The Bride.379 

The Ceremony.. 379 

The Wedding Breakfast.379 

A House Wedding.380 

Sending Cards.380 

Funeral Etiquette.381 

The House Services.381 

Flowers.382 

Mourning.382 

Anniversary and Other Occasions .... 383 
Gifts and Invitations.383 


XIX 




















































































XX 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


[Book V 


Christenings.384 

Private Theatricals., 384 

Etiquette for General Occasions .... 385 

Etiquette of the Household.385 

Table Manners.385 

Etiquette of the Street.386 

In the Electric Car.386 

Etiquette of Business.387 

Etiquette of the Club.387 

Etiquette of Traveling.387 

Table Etiquette for Children.388 

Forms of Invitations. 389 

Invitations to Parties.389 

Dinner Invitations. 390 

Small Entertainments.391 

Form of Euglish Invitations.391 

Wedding Invitations.391 

General Invitations.392 

Art of Letter Writing.393 

Style in Correspondence ....... 393 

Forms of Address.394 

Letters of Recommendations.395 

Letters of Introductions.395 

Letters of Congratulations or Condolence . 396 

Replying to Letters.397 

Punctuation.397 

Postscripts.398 

Forms of Correspondence ....... 398 

Ordering Goods . ... tl .398 

Application for a Sitaation as Teacher . . 398 
Introducing a Young Lady Seeking Em¬ 
ployment ..398 


Introducing a Friend. 399 

Short Form of Introduction. 399 

Congratulating a Gentleman Upon His 

Marriage.399 

Congratulating a Young Lady Upon Her 

Marriage.399 

A Letter Sent with a Gift.399 

The Reply .. 399 

Soliciting a Loan from a Friend .... 400 
In Answer Declining, on Account of Inca¬ 
pability .40c 


A Letter to a Friend (on the Anniversary 


of His Birthday).. 400 

Reply to the Above.400 

Requesting a Friend to Execute 3 Com¬ 
mission . ... 400 

Application for Subscription to a Charity . 401 

Letters of Application.401 

Application for Position of Salesman and 

Collector.^ OI 

Requesting the Settlement of an Account 401 

A Demand for Payment of Rent .... 401 


Introducing a Young Man Seeking a Posi¬ 
tion .402 


Social Letters. 402 

From Charles Dickens to James T. Fields 403 
From Charles Sumner on Leaving for 

Europe to His Ten-year Old Sister . 403 


Etiquette of Beauty .... 
How to Grow Old Gracefully 
Care of the Body , , , , , 


404 

404 

404 















































BOOK VI 


WONDERFUL AND REMARKABLE 

THINGS AND FACTS 


About Religions. 

The Seven Bibles of the World ..... 407 
The Nine Religions of the World .... 407 
Distribution of the People of the Chris¬ 
tian Religion.407 

The Name of God in Forty-eight Lan¬ 
guages .408 

Mankind Naturally Religious.408 

The Jewish Religion.408 

Fire Worshipers.•.409 

Buddhism.409 

Mohammedanism.409 

Curiosities of the Bible.410 

A Description of Mount Ararat .... 410 

New Testament Chronology.410 

Supposed Facts of the Apostles.411 


About Books and Writers of Books. 


Names for Different Sizes of Books . . .412 
Assumed Names of Well Known Writers . 4^ 

Great Men’s Reading.414 

Twelve Greatest Books of the Nineteenth 

Century.415 

Newspapers in the United States and the 

World.415 

Newspaper Statistics for the Year 1900 . .415 
Lubbock’s I ist of the Hundred Best 

Books.416 


The Ten Greatest Preachers . 
The Ten Greatest Philosophers 
The Ten Greatest Reformers 
The Ten Greatest Historians . 


The Ten Greatest Poets.417 

The Ten Greatest Painters.417 


The Ten Greatest Sculptors.417 


Miscellaneous, Remarkable and Curious. 


The Largest Bell in the World . . . . 417 

The Largest Theatre.41 j 

The Greatest Fortress . 417 

The Biggest Cavern.417 

The Longest Tunnel.418 

The Biggest Trees.418 

The Largest Library.418 

The Largest Desert. ..418 

First Things.418 

The 19th Century in a Nutshell . . . .419 

The Paris Exposition.419 

Owners of Land in America.419 

Principal Battles of the Civil War : Dates, 
Commanders, and N umber Killed on 

Both Sides ..419 

Growth of the United States. a iq 


How the Greatest Powers have changed 
Rank in One Hundred Years . . . 
Politics of the Presidents. 


Education of the Presidents.421 

Religion of the Presidents.421 

Cabinet Facts of Interest .. 4 21 

Salaries of United States Officers, per 

Annum.422 

Popular and Electoral Votes for Presidents 422 
Eleven Great Wonders in America . . . 423 

Noted American Trees.423 

The Great Famines of History . . . . 423 

Remarkable Plagues of Modern Times . . 423 

Great Financial Panics.424 

The Greatest Floods in History .... 424 

The Greatest World’s Fairs.425 

The Highest Buildings, Monuments, etc. 425 

Famous Giants and Dwarfs.425 

Remarkable Genius in Youth.426 

Remarkable Memories.426 


/ 


XXl 

















































XXII 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 


[Book VI 


Historical Facts, Places and Events. 

‘‘Uncle Sam,” Origin of.427 

“John Bull,” Origin of.427 

Important Battles in History.427 

The Greatest Number of Men Ever Killed 

in a Single Battle.428 

Historical Massacres.428 

The Monroe Doctrine. 


429 


Some Wonderful Things in Nature. 


Mammoth Cave.430 

Luray Caverns.430 

Fingal’s Cave.430 

A Magnetic Cave.431 

The Largest Cavern in the World . . .431 

In the Maelstrom of Niagara.431 

The “ Maid of the Mist”.432 

Some Wonderful Works of ITan. 

The Ingenuity of Man. 433 

The Seven Wonders of the World . . . 433 

Pearls and Pearl Divers.434 

The International Bone of Contention . . 435 

The Nicaragua Canal.435 

Hoosac Tunnel.43c 


flarvelous Facts About Small Creatures. 


Norway Rats on a March.436 

How the Chicken Grows in the Egg. . . 436 
How the Spider Spins Her Web .... 437 

The Balloon Spider.437 

A Spider’s Appetite.437 

Wonderful Facts About the Ant .... 438 

The Wonders of a Flea.438 

A Bird that Turns Somersaults ..... 438 

The Tailor Bird.439 

The Pigeons of Venice.439 

Flights of Birds.439 


Curious Facts About Wood and Trees. 

The Largest Trees in the World .... 440 
The Oldest Timber in the World .... 440 
A Tree that Lives 5000 Years.441 


Plants that Eat Animals.441 

A Petrified Forest.442 

The Dwarf Trees of Japan.442 

Why Called Rosewood.442 


The Facts and Fables of the Upas Tree . 442 
The Lace Bark Tree.443 

Table Showing the Amount of Money 
Spent in the United States in 1900 for 
Intoxicating Liquors as Compared 
with other Expenditures.444 


l | 













































r 


BOOK I 



I RESIDE GEMS 
FROM OUR 
POPULAR POETS 

CHRONOLOGICALLY 

ARRANGED 


SHAKESPEARE 

HEMANS 

WHITMAN 

BEN JONSON 

BRYANT 

BAYARD TAYLOR 

MILTON 

HOOD 

JEAN INGELOW 

WATTS 

EMERSON 

STEDMAN 

POPE 

WILLIS 

MOULTON 

GOLDSMITH 

LONGFELLOW 

BRET HARTE j 

BURNS 

WHITTIER 

JOAQUIN MILLER 

WORDSWORTH 

TENNYSON 

R. W. GILDER 

COLERIDGE 

POE 

EUGENE FIELD 

MOORE 

HOLMES 

J. W. RILEY 

BYRON 

LOWELL 

• 


3 H 



















































► 










n 































WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 


35 


THE ABUSE OF AUTHORITY. 
‘‘Measure for Measure,” Art II, Scene 2. 


O, it is excellent 

To have a giant’s strength ; but it is tyrannous 
To use it like a giant. 


Could great men thunder 
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne’er be quiet; 
For every pelting, petty officer 
Would use his heaven for thunder: nothing but 
thunder. 


Merciful Heaven! 

Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt, 
Splitt’st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak 
Than the soft myrtle: But man, proud man. 
Dressed in a little brief authority, 

Most ignorant of what he’s most assured,— 

His glassy essence,—like an angry ape, 

Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven 
As make the angels weep: who, with our spleens, 
Would all themselves laugh mortal. 



THE WITCHES. 

“Macbeth,” Act IV, Scene /. 
A dark cave. In the middle, a caldron boiling. Thunder. 


Enter the three Witches, 
jst Witch. Thrice the brinded cat has mewed. 
2 d Witch . Thrice; and once the hedge-pig 
whined. 

jd Witch. Harpier cries:—’Tis time, ’tie time. 
jst Witch. Round about the caldron go; 

In the poisoned entrails throw. 

Toad, that under the cold stone, 

Days and nights hast thirty-one 
Sweltered venom sleeping got, 

Boil thou first i’ the charmed pot 1 


All. Double, double, toil and trouble; 
Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 

2d Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake, 

In the caldron boil and bake: 

Eye of newt, and toe of frog, * 

Wool of bat, and tongue of dog, 

Adder’s fork, and blind-worm’s sting. 
Lizard’s leg, and owlet’s wing, 

For a charm of powerful trouble; 

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 

All. Double, double, toil and trouble* 
Fire burn, and caldron bubble. 





















3° 


William shakespeare. 


FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. 

“ Henry VIII,” Act III, Scene 2. . 

Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII, thus soliloquizes, and afterward confers with his servant 
«Cromwell: 


Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my 
greatness! 

This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him: 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; 

And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening,—nips his root, 

And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
This many summers in a sea of glory ; 

But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me; and now has left me, 
Weary, and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 

Vain pomp,and glory of this world, I hate ye; 

I feel my heart new open’d : O, how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 

More pangs and fears than wars or women have ; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 

Never to hope again.— 

Enter Cromwell _, amazedly. 

Why, how now, Cromwell? 

Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. 

Wot. What, amazed at my misfortunes; can thy 
spirit wonder t 

A great man should decline ? Nay, and you weep, 
I am fallen indeed. 

Crom. How does your grace ? 

Wol. Why, well; 

Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 

I know myself now; and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities, 

A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured 
me, 

I humbly thank his grace ; and from these shoul¬ 
ders, 

These ruin’d pillars, out of pity, taken 
A load would sink a navv, too much honor: 

O ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden, 

Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. 

Crom. I am glad your grace has made that 
right use of it. 

Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks 
'Out of a fortitude of soul I feel), 

To endure more miseries, and greater far, 

Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 

What news abroad ? 


Crom. That Cranmer is return’d with welcome. 
Install’d lord archbishop of Canterbury. 

Wol. That’s news indeed. 

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 

Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was view’d in open, as his queen, 

Going to chapel; and the voice is now 
Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pull’d me 
down. O Cromwell, 

The king has gone beyond me ; all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost forever : 

No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, 

Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Crom* 
well; 

I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master: Seek the king ; 

That sun I pray may never set ! I have told him 
What, and how true thou art; he will advance 
thee; 

Some little memory of me will stir him, 

(I know his noble nature) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish, too : Good Cromwell, 
Neglect him not; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord, 

Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master? 

Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. — 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers 
Forever, and forever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me. 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 

Let’s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, 
Cromwell; 

And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of,—say, I taught 
thee; 

Say, Wolsey,—that once trod the ways of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor,—. 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.' 
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin’d me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; 

By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, 
The image of his Maker, hope to win by’t? 

Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate 
thee; 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 


37 


Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, fear not; 
Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, 
■Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, 
O Cromwell, 

Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the king, 
And,-Pr’ythee, lead me in ; 


There take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny ; ’tis the king’s : my robe, 

And my integrity to heaven, is all 
I dare now call mine own. O, Cromwell, 
Cromwell, 

Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enimies. 



“Come Apace, Good Audrey: I Will Fetch Up Your Goats Audrey.” 


TOUCHSTONE AND AUDREY. 

“ As You Like It, 


Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch 
up your goats, Audrey. And how, Audrey? am 
I the mail yet ? doth my simple feature content 
you ? 

Aud. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what 
features ? 

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as 
the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, vas among 
the Goths. 

When a man’s verses can not be understood, 


’ Act III, Scene j. 

nor a man’s good wit seconded with the forward 
child understanding, it strikes a man more dead 
than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, I 
would the gods had made thee poetical. 

Aud. I do not know what “ poetical ” is ; is it 
honest in deed and word ? is it a true thing? 

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the 
most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry, 
and what they swear in poetry may be said a* 
lovers they do feign. 















33 


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 




And . Do you wish, then, that the gods had 
made me poetical? 

Touch . I do, truly; for thou swearest to me 
thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I 
might have some hope thou didst feign. 

Aud. Would you not have me honest? 

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard- 
favored ; for honesty coupled to beauty is to have 
honey a sauce to sugar. 


Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray 

the gods make me honest. 

Touch. Well, praised be the gods. Eut be it 
as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end 1 
have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of 
the next village, who hath promised to meet me 
in this place of the forest and to couple us. 

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy ! 




THE SEVEN AGES. 

“ “As You Like It,” Act //, Scene 7. 

The banished duke, with Jaques and other lords, are in the forest of Arden, sitting at their plain repast. Orlando, 
who has been wandering in the forest in quest of food for an old servant, Adam, who can “go no further,” suddenly 
comes upon the party, and with his sword drawn, exclaims: 


Orlando Forbear, I say ; 

He dies that touches any of this fruit 
Till I and my affairs are answer’d. 

Jaques. An you will not 
Be answer’d with reason, I must die. 

Duke Sen. What would you have? Your gen¬ 
tleness shall force, 

More than your force move us to gentleness. 

Orla. I almost die for food, and let me have it. 
Duke Sen. Sit down and feed, and welcome to 
our table. 

Orta. Speak you so gently ? Pardon me, I pray 
you; 

I thought that all things had been savage here; 
And therefore put I on the countenance 
Of stern commandment. But whate’er you are. 
That in this desert inaccessible^ 

Under the shade of melancholy boughs, 

Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time ; 

If ever you have look’d on better days; 

If ever been where bells have knoll’d to church; 
If ever sat at any good man’s feast; 

If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear, 

And know what ’tis to pity, and be pitied; 

Let gentleness my strong enforcement be: 

In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. 
Duke Sen. True it is that we have seen better 
days; 

And have with holy bell been knoll’d to church ; 
And sat at good men’s feasts; and wiped our eyes 
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender’d : 

And therefore sit you down in gentleness, 

And take upon command what help we have 
That to your wanting may be minister’d. 

Orla. Then but forbear your food a little while, 
Wiiiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn, 

And give it food. There is an old poor man, 
Who after me hath many a weary step 
Limp’d in pure love; till he be first sufficed,— 


Oppress’d with two weak evils, age and hunger,— 
I will not touch a bit. 

Duke Sen. Go find him out, 

And we will nothing waste till your return. 

Orla . I thank ye: and be bless’d for your good 
comfort. \_Exit.~\ 

Duke Sen. Thou seest, we are not ail alone 
unhappy: 

This wide and universal theater 

Presents more woful pageants than the scene 

Wherein we play in. 

Jaq. All the world’s a stage, 

And all the men and women merely players: 
They have their exits and their entrances ; 

And one man in his time plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, 
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms: 

And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel 
And shining morning-face, creeping like snail 
Unwillingly to school: And then the hover; 
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow : Then, a soldier; 
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, 
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel. 
Seeking the bubble reputation 
Even in the cannon’s mouth : And then, the justice; 
In fair round belly, with good capon lined. 

With eyes severe, ood beard of formal cut. 

Full of wise saws and modern instances. 

And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts 
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon; 

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side : 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice, 
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes 
And whistles in his sound : Last scene of all, 
That ends this strange eventful history, 

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion : 

Sans teeth, sans eves, sans taste, sans everything. 






I 


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 


39 


✓ 


SHYLOCK AND ANTONIO. 


“ Mf;rchant of Venice,” Act /, Scene j. 
Antonio, to oblige his friend Bassanio, becomes his surety for repayment of a loan. 


Bassanio. This is Signior Antonio. 

Shylock (aside). How like a fawning publican 
he looks! 

I hate him for he is a Christian ; 

But more for that in low simplicity 
He lends out money gratis and brings down 
The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 

If I can catch him once upon the hip, 

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 

He hates our sacred nation, and he rails, 

Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 

If I forgive him. 

Antonio. Shylock, although I neither lend nor 
borrow 

By taking nor by giving of excess, 

Yet, to supply the ripe wants of my friend, 

I’ll break a custom. 

Shy. Methought you said you neither lend nor 
borrow 

Upon advantage. 

Ant. I do never use it. 

Shy. When Jacob grazed his uncle Laban’s 
sheep— 

Ant. And what of him ? did he take interest ? 
Shy. No, not take interest, not, as you would 
say, 

Directly interest: mark what Jacob did. 

This was a way to thrive, and he was blest: 

And thrift is blessing, if men steal it not. 

Ant. Mark you this, Bassanio, 

The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. 

An evil soul producing holy witness 
Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, 

A goodly apple rotten at the heart. 

Shy. Signior Antonio, many time and oft 
In the Rialto you have rated me 
About my money and my usances: 

Still have I borne it with a patient shrug. 

For sufferance is the badge of all our tribe. 

You call me misbeliever, cut-throat dog, 

And spit upon my Jewish gaberdine, 

And all for use of that which is mine own. 

Well then, it now appears you need my help : 

Go too, then; you come to me and you say, 

“ Shylock, we would have moneys: ” you say SO; 
You that did void your rheum upon my beard, 

And foot me as you spurn a stranger cur 
Over your threshold : moneys is your suit. 

What should I say to you ? Should I not say, 

** Hath a dog money ? is it possible 
A can lend three thousand ducats ? * ’ 9? 


Shall I bend low, and in a bondman’s key, 

Say this: “ Fair sir, you spit on me on Wednes 
day last; 

You spurned me such a day; another time 
You called me dog ; and for these courtesies 
I’ll lend you thus much moneys? ” 

Ant. I am as like to call thee so again, 

To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 

If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
As to thy friends; for when did friendship take 
A breed for barren metal of his friend ? 

But lend it rather to thine enemy. 

Who, if he break, thou mayest with better face 
Exact the penalty. 

Shy. Why, look you, how you storm ! 

I would be friends with you and have your love, 
Forget the shames that you have stain’d me 
with, 

Supply your present wants and take no doit 
Of usance for my moneys, and you’ll not hear 
me: 

This is kind I offer. 

Bass. This were kindness. 

Shy. This kindness will I show. 

Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
Your single bond ; and in a merry sport, 

If you repay me not on such a day, 

In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
Express’d in such condition, let the forfeit 
Be nominated for an equal pound 
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
In what part of your body pleaseth me. 

Ant. Content i’ faith : I’ll seal to such a bond, 
And say there is much kindness in the Jew. 

Bass. You shall not sign to such a bond fci 
me. 

I’ll rather dwell in my necessity. 

Ant. Why, fear not, man ; I will not forfeit it: 
Within these two months—that’s a month before 
This bond expires—I do expect return 
Of thrice three times the value of this bond. 

Shy. O father Abram, what these Christians* 
are, 

Whose own hard dealing teaches them suspect 
The thoughts of others ! Pray you, tell me this? 
If he should break his day, what slould I gain? 

A pound of man’s flesh taken from a man 
Is not so estimable, profitable neither, 

As flesh of muttons, beefs, or goats. I say 
To buy his favor, I extend this friendship: 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu : 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Ant Yes ? Shylock, I will seal unto this bond. 






4 o 


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 


Shy. Then meet me henceforth at the notary’s; 
Give him directions for this money bond, 

And I will go and purse the ducats straight; 

See to my house, left in the fearful guard 


Of an unthrifty knave, and presently 
I will be with you. [. Exit."] 

Ant. Hie thee, gentle Jew. 

The Hebrew will turn Christian : he grows kind. 



HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY ON DEATH. 

“Hamlet,” Act III , Scene i. 


Ham. To be, or not to be, that is the question : 
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, 

Or tu take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing end them ? To die,—to sleep,— 
No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die,—to sleep ;—- 
To sleep { perchance to dream;—ay, there’s the 
rub; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may ccme, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause: there’s the respect, 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s con¬ 
tumely. 


The pangs of disprized love, the law’s delay. 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who would these fardels 
bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life ; 

But that the dread of something after death, 

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveler returns, puzzles the will; 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sickbed o’er with the pale cast of thought; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. 




HAMLET AND THE GHOST. 
Hamlet,” Act /, Scene 4. 


Enter Ghost. 

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes ! 

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend 
us!— 

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, 
Bring with thee airs from heaven, O- blasts from 
hell. 

Be thy intents wicked, or charitable, 

Thou comest in such a questionable shape, 

That I will speak to thee; I’ll call thee, Hamlet, 
King, father, royal Dane : O, answer me : 

Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell, 

Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death, 
Have burst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, 
Wherein we saw thee quietly in-urned, 

Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, 

To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, 
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, 
Revisit’st thus the glimpses of the moon, 

Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature, 
60 horridly to shake our disposition, 


With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls? 
Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we 
do ? 

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, 

As if it some impartment did desire 
To you alone. 

Mar. Look, with what courteous action 
It wafts you to a more removed ground : 

But do not go with it. 

Hor. No, by no means. 

Ham. It will not speak; then will I follow it. 
Hor. Do not, my lord. 

Hani. It wafts me still:— 

Go on, I’ll follow thee. 

Where wilt thou lead me? speak, I’ll go no 
further. 

Ghost. Mark me. 

Ham. I will. 

Ghost. My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flame* 

Must render up myself. 

Ham. Alas, poor ghost J 






WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, 


41 


Ghost. Pity me not, but lend thy serious hear¬ 
ing 

To what I shall unfold 
Ham. Speak, I am bound to hear. 

Ghost. So art ihou to revenge, when thou shalt 
hear. 

Ham. What ? 

Ghost. I am thy father’s spirit; 

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night; 
And, for the day, confined to fast in fires, 
lill the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
Are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word 



44 1 spake of most disastrous chances, 

Of moving accidents by flood and field.” 


Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young 
blood; 

Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from theii 
spheres; 

Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And each particular hair to stand on end. 

Like quills upon the fretful porcupine; 

But this eternal blazon must not be 

To ears of flesh and blood :—List, Hamlet, O 
list!— 

If thou didst ever thy dear father love,— 

Ham. O heaven ! 

Ghost. Revenge his foul and most unnatural 
murther. 


OTHELLO’S WOOING. 


OST potent, grave, and reverend signeurs, 
My very noble and approved good masters, 
That I have ta’en away this old man’s 
daughter, 

It is most true ; true, I have married her : 

The very he^d and front of my offending 


Hath this extent \ no more. Rude am I in my 
speech, 

And little bless’d with the soft phrase of peace: 
Forsince these arms of mine had seven years’ pith, 
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used 
Their dearest action in the tented field* 






































42 


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 


And little of this great world can I speak, 

More than pertains to feats of broil and battle, 
And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious 
patience, 

I will a round unvarnish’d tale deliver 
Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what 
charms, 

What conjuration and what mighty magic, 

For such proceeding I am charged withal, 

I won his daughter. 

Bra. A maiden never bold ; 

Of spirit so still and quiet, that her motion 
Blush’d at herself; and she, in spite of nature, 
Of years, of country, credit, everything, 

To fall in love with what she fear’d to look 
on ! 

It is a judgment maim’d and most imperfect 
That will confess perfection so could err 
Against all rules of nature, and must be driven 
To find out practices of cunning hell, 

Why this should be. I therefore vouch again 
That with some mixtures powerful o’er the blood, 
Or with some dram conjured to this effect, 

He wrought upon her. 

Duke. To vouch this, is no proof, 

Without more wider or more overt test 
Than these thin habits and poor likelihoods 
Of modern seeming do prefer against him. 

First Sen. But, Othello, speak ; 

Did you by indirect and forced courses 
Subdue and poison this young maid’s affections ? 
Or came it by request and such fair question 
As soul to soul affordeth ? 

Duke. Say it, Othello. 

Othello. Her father lov’d me ; oft invited me; 
Still question’d me the story of my life, 

From year to year, the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
That I have pass’d. 

I ran it through, even from my boyish days, 

To the very moment that he bade me tell it: 


Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances. 

Of moving accidents by flood and field; 

Of hair-breadth ’scapes i’ the imminent deadly 
breach; 

Of being taken by the insolent foe, 

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, 
And importance in my travel’s history: 

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, 

Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch 
heaven, 

It was my hint to speak,—such was the process; 
And of the Cannibals that each other eat, 

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads 
Do grow beneath their shoulders. This to hear 
Would Desdemona seriously incline, 

But still the house-affairs would draw her thence: 
Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 

She’Id come again, and with a greedy ear 
Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means 
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart 
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, 

Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 

But not intentively: I did consent, 

And often did beguile her of her tears, 

When I did speak of some distressful stroke 
That my youth suffer’d. My story being done, 
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs: 

She swore,—it faith, ’t was strange, ’t was passing 
strange; 

’T was pitiful, ’t was wondrous pitiful: 

She wish’d she had not heard it; yet she wish’d 
That Heaven had made her such a man: she 
thank’d me; 

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, 

I should but teach him how to tell my story, 

And that would woo her. Upon this hint I 
spake; 

She loved me for the dangers I had passed, 

And I loved her that she did pity them. 

This only is the witchcraft I nave used. 




BEN JONSON. 


43 



EAUTIES, have ye seen this toy. 
Called love ! a little boy 
Almost naked, wanton, blind, 
Cruel now, and then as kind? 

If he be amongst ye, say 1 
He is Venus’ runaway. 


He hath of marks about him plenty, 
You shall know him among twenty: 
All his body is a fire, 

And his breath a flame entire, 

That, being shot like lightning in. 
Wounds the heart, but not the skin. 


He doth bear a golden bow, 
And a quiver, hanging low, 
Full of arrows, that outbrave 


CUPID. 

Dian’s shafts, where, if he have 
Any head more sharp than other, 

With that first he strikes his mother. 

Trust him not: his words, though sweet, 
Seldom with his heart do meet, 

All his practice is deceit, 

Every gift is but a bait: 

Not a kiss but poison bears, 

And most treason in his tears. 

If by these ye please to know him, 
Beauties, be not nice, but show him. 
Though ye had a w:!i to hide him, 

Now, we hope, ye’ll not abide him. 
Since ye hear his falser play, 

; And that he’s Venus’ runaway. 


-« 0 ^ 0 «' - — 


HYMN TO CYNTHIA. 


UEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, 
Now the sun is laid to sleep. 
Seated in thy silver chair, 

State in wonted manner keep : 
Hesperus entreats thy light, 

Goddess, excellently bright. 

Earth, let not thy envious shade 
Dare itself to interpose; 

Cynthia’s shining orb was made 


Heaven to clear, when day did close 
Bless us then with washed sight, 
Goddess, excellently bright. 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal shining quiver; 
Give unto the flying heart 

Space to breathe, how short soeve* 
Thou that mak’st a day of night. 
Goddess, excellently bright. 



■ »o^o« 


SONG.—TO CELIA. 


RINK to me only with thine eyes, 
And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
And I’ll not look for wine. 

The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 
Doth ask a drink divine ; 

But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 



I sent thee late a rosy wreath. 

Not so much honoring thee, 

As giving it a hope, that there 
It could not withered be. 

But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent’st it back to me; 

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear. 
Not of itself but thee. 


ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 



HIS morning, timely rapt with holy fire. 

I thought to form unto my zealous muse, 
What kind of creature I could most desire 
To honor, serve, and love, as Poets use. 

I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise, 

Of greatest blood,and yet more good than great; 
I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, 

Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat, 
fi meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, 


Hating that solemn vice of greatness—pride; 

I meant each softest virtue there should meet, 

Fit in that softer bosom to reside. 

Only a learned and manly soul 

I purposed her: that should, with even powers 
The rock, the spindle, and the shears control 
Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. 

Such, when I meant to feign, and wished to see, 
Mv Muse bade Bedford, write, and that w$s she j 
























44 


JOHN MILTON 


Milton was one of the greatest poets of all time, and his greatest work is 
“ Paradise Lost.” He was also the most learned man of his age, and a prose 
writer and statesman of profound ability. In 1644, he addressed to Parliament 
the most masterly of his prose writings, the “ Areopagitica : a Speech for the 
Liberty of Unlicensed Printing.” It is, perhaps, the most able argument ever 
produced upon the subject, and not only for this reason, but because of its noble 
statement of the value of good books, deserves to be read and re-read by every 
thinking person. 


-;-- 

EVE’S ACCOUNT OF HER CREATION. 
Paradise Lost, IV. 


H\pJlHAT day I oft remember, when from sleep 
rag I first awaked, and founa myself reposed, 
- Under a shade, on flowers, much wonder¬ 
ing where 

And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved, 

Pure as the expanse of heaven : I thither went 
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 
On the green bank, to look into the clear 
Smooth lake, that to me seem’d another sky. 

As I bent down to look, just opposite 
A shape within the watery gleam appear’d. 
Bending to look on me : I started back. 

It started back; but pleased I soon return’d, 
Pleased it return’d as soon, with answering looks 
Of sympathy and love: there I had fix’d 
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 
Had not a voice thus warn’d me: “ What thou 
seest, 

What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; 
With thee it came and goes; but follow me, 


And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 
Thy coming and thy soft embraces; he 
Whose image thou art: him thou shalt enjoy 
Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear 
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be call’d 
Mother of human race.” What could I do. 

But follow straight, invisibly thus led? 

Till I espied thee, fair indeed, and tall, 

Under a platane; yet, methought, less fair. 

Less winning soft, less amiably mild, 

Than that smooth watery image : back I turn’d , 
Thou, following, criedst aloud, “ Return, fair Eve, 
Whom fliest thou? whom thou fliest, of him thou 
art, 

His flesh, his bone; to give thee being I lent 
Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, 
Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
Henceforth an individual solace dear. 

Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim. 

My other half.” With that, thy gentle hand 
Seized mine : I yielded ; and from that time see 
How beauty is excell’d by manly grace, 

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. 


-. 0+0 


INVOCATION TO LIGHT. 
Paradise Lost, III. 


AIL, holy Light! offspring of heaven first 
born, 

Or of the Eternal co-eternal beam. 

May I express thee unblamed ? since God is 
light, 

And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 

Or hear’st thou rather, pure ethereal stream, 
Whose foantain who shall tell ? Before the sun, 



Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 
The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 

Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detain’d 
In that obscure sojourn ; while in my flight. 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night; 



















JOHN MILTON. 


45' 


Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to reascend, 

Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovran vital lamp; but thou 
Revisit’st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; 

So thick a drop serene hath quench’d their orbs, 
Or dim suffusion veil’d. Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 

Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief 
Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 
That wash thy hallow’d feet, and warbling flow. 
Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget 
Those other two equall’d with me in fate, 

So were I equall’d with them in renown, 

Blind Thamyris and blind Mseonides, 

And Tiresias, and Phineus, prophets old: 

Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 


Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid 
Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 
Seasons return; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer’s rose. 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 

But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, 
Presented with a universal blank 
Of nature’s works, to me expunged and rased, 
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 

So much the rather thou, celestial Light, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all hei 
powers 

Irradiate; there plant eyes; all mist from thenc 
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 



THE DEPARTURE FROM EDEN. 

“ Paradise Lost.” Book XII. 


O spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard, 
Well pleased, but answered not; for now 
too nigh 

The Archangel stood, and from the other hill 
To their fixed station all in bright array 
The Cherubim descended ; on the ground 
Gliding meteorus, as the evening mist 
Risen from a river o’er the marish glides, 

And gathers ground fast at the laborer’s heel 
Homeward returning. High in front advanced 
The brandished sword of God before them blazed 
Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat, 

And vapor as the Libyan air adust, 

Began to parch that temperate clime. Whereat 


In either hand the hastening angel caught 
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate 
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast 
To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. 

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, 

Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. 
Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them 
soon : 

The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their plac« of rest, and Providence their guide. 
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 












is A Ac WATTS 



Isaac Watts was the first great hymn-writer of the English 
His devotional hymns are used largely by all evangelical churches of 
tian world. 



language, 
the Chris- 


THE ROSE. 


OW fair is the rose ! what a beautiful flower, 
The glory of April and May ! 

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an 
hour, 

And they wither and die in a day. 

Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast, 
Above all the flowers of the field ; 

When its leaves are all dead, and its fine colors 
lost, 

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield ! 


So frail is the youth and the beauty of rr m, 
Though they bloom and look gay like the 
rose; 

But all our fond cares to preserve them is vain, 
Time kills them as fast as he goes. 

Then I’ll not be proud of my youth nor my 
beauty, 

Since both of them wither and fade ; 

But gain a good name by well doing my duty ; 
This will scent like a rose when I’m dead. 



—> —.o^-o*- 

THE EARNEST STUDENT. 


NFINITE Truth, the life of my desires, 
Come from the sky, and join thyself to 
me: 

I’m tired with hearing, and this reading 
tires; 

But never tired of telling thee, 

*Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to see. 


(( Speak to my soul, alone ; no other hand 
Shall mark my path out with delusive art: 
All nature, silent in His presence, stand ; 
Creatures, be dumb at his command, 

And leave his single voice to whisper to my 
heart. 


“ Retire, my soul, within thyself retire, 

Away from sense and every outward show: 

Now let my thoughts to loftier themes 
aspire; 

My knowledge now on wheels of fire, 

May mount and spread above f surveying all 
below.” 

The Lord grows lavish of His heavenly light, 
And pours whole floods on such a mind as 
this: 

Fled from the eyes, she gains a piercingsight. 
She dives into the infinite, 

And sees unutterable things in that unknown 
abyss. 



— » 0 ^ 0 » " ■■ - 

THERE IS A LAND OF PURE DELIGHT. 


HERE is a land of pure delight, 
Where saints immortal reign ; 
— Infinite day excludes the night. 
And pleasures banish pain. 

There everlasting Spring abides, 

And never-withering flowers; 
Death, like a narrow sea, divides 
This heavenly land from ours. 

Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 
Stand dressed in living green ; 

So to the Jews old Canaan stood, 
While Jordan rolled between. 


But timorous mortals start and shrink 
To cross this narrow sea, 

And linger shivering on the brink, 

And fear to launch away. 

Oh ! could we make our doubts remove— 
Those gloomy doubts that rise— 

And see the Canaan that we love 
With unbeclouded eyes; 

Could we but climb where Moses stood, 
And view the landscape o’er, 

Not Jordan’s stream nor Death’s cold flood 
Should fright us from the shore. 




















Alexander pop£. 


47 


THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL 


ITAL spark of heavenly flame ! 

Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame ! 
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying— 
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying ! 

Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 

And let me languish into life I 

Hark ! they whisper ; Angels say. 

Sister spirit, come away. 

What is this absorbs me quite? 


Steals my senses, shuts my sight ? 
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? 
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 

The world recedes; it disappears! 
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
With sounds seraphic ring : 

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! 1 fly! 
Oh Grave 1 where is thy Victory ? 

Oh Death! where is thy Sting ? 



0 + 0 .- 


THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 


ATHER of all! in every age, 

In every clime adored,— 

By saint, by savage, or by sage— 
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord 1 

Thou first great Cause, least understood. 
Who all my sense confined 

To know but this: that Thou art good, 
And that myself am blind; 

Yet gave me in this dark estate. 

To see the good from ill; 

And binding Nature fast in Fate, 

Left free the human Will. 

What conscience dictates to be done, 

Or warns me not to do, 

This teach me more than hell to shun, 
That more than heaven pursue. 

What blessings thy free bounty gives 
Let me not cast away; 

For God is paid when man receives; 

To enjoy is to obey. 

Yet not to earth’s contracted span 
Thy goodness let me bound, 

Or Thee the Lord alone of man, 

When thousand worlds are round. 

Let not this weak, unknowing hand 
Presume Thy bolts to throw, 


And deal damnation round the land 
On each I judge Thy foe. 

If I am right, Thy grace impart 
Still in the right to stay ; 

If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 
To find that better way. 

Save me alike from foolish pride 
Or impious discontent, 

At aught Thy wisdom has denied 
Or aught Thy goodness lent. 

Teach me to feel another’s woe. 

To hide the fault I see; 

That mercy I to others show, 

That mercy show to me. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so, 
Since quickened by Thy breath; 

Oh, lead me, wheresoe’er I go, 

Through this day’s life or death. 

This day be bread and peace my lot: 
All else beneath the sun 

Thou knowest it best, bestowed or nolj. 
And let Thy will be done ! 

To Thee, whose temple is all space. 
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies. 

One chorus let all being raise; 

All Nature’s incense rise. 










4S 


OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 


THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 


WEET Auburn! loveliest village of the 

Where health and plenty cheered the labor¬ 
ing swain, 

Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, 

And parting Summer’s lingering blooms delayed ! 
Dear lovely bovvers of innocence and ease, 

Seats of my youth, when every sport could please ! 
How often have I loitered o’er thy green, 

Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm— 

The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 

The decent church that topped the neighboring 
hill, 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ! 

How often have I blessed the coming day, 

When toil, remitting, lent its turn to play. 

And all the village train, from labor free, 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree; 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 

The young contending, as the old surveyed, 

And many a gambol frolicked o’er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went 
round; 

Vnd still as each repeated pleasure tired, 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired. 

Sweet smiling village, loveliest of. the lawn, 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant’s hand is seen, 

And desolation saddens all thy green ; 

One only master grasps the whole domain, 

And half a village stints thy smiling plain. 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But choked with sedges works its weary way; 
Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest; 


Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 

And the long grass o’ertops the mouldering wall; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler# 
hand, 

Far, far away thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 

Where wealth accumulates and men decay; 
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade, 

A breath can make them as a breath has made; 
But a bold peasantry, their country’s pride, 

When once destroyed can never be supplied. 

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant’s power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
And, many a year elapsed, return to view 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
Remembrance wakes, with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

Sweet was the sound when oft at evening’s close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; 

There, as I passed, with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came softened from below: 
The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 

The sober herd that lowed to meet their young, 
The noisy geese that gabbled o’er the pool, 

The playful children just let loose from school, 
The watch-dog’s voice that bayed the whispering 
wind, 

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ;— 
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 
And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail; 

No cheerful murmur fluctuates in the gale; 

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 

But all the bloomy blush of life is fled. 


-* 0+0 


THE VILLAGE PREACHER. 
From “The Deserted Village.” 


EAR yonder copse, where once the garden 
smiled, 

And still where many a garden flower 
grows wild; 

There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The village preacher’s modest mansion rose. 

A man he was to all the country dear, 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year; 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 

Nor e’er had changed, nor wish’d to change his 
place; 


Unskilful he to fawn, or seek for power 
By doctrines fashion’d to the varying hour; 

Far other aims his heart had learn’d to prize. 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 

His house was known to all the vagrant train, 

He chid their wanderings, but relieved theL 
pain; 

The long-remember’d beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast; 
The ruin’d spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claim’d kindred there, and had his claims allow’d; 














OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 


49 


The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 

Sat by his fire, and talk’d the night away; 

Wept o’er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shoulder’d his crutch and show’d how fields were 
won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to 
glow, 

And quite forget their vices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 

His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And e’en his failings lean’d to Virtue’s side: 

But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watch’d and wept, he pray’d and felt for all. 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries, 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies; 
He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 

And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay’d, 
The reverend champion stood. At his control, 


Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whisper’d praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 

His looks adorn’d the venerable place; 

Truth from his lips prevail’d with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The service past, around the pious man, 

With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran; 

E’en children follow’d with endearing wile, 

And pluck’d his gown, to share the good man’s 
smile; 

His ready smile a parent’s warmth exprest, 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distrest; 
To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven: 

As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, 

Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are 
spread, 

Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 


•ofo-'-■ 


A CITY NIGHT-PIECE. 

« Letters of a Citizen of the World.” 


HE clock had just struck two ; the expiring 
taper rises and sinks in the socket; the 
watchman forgets the hour in slumber; 
the laborious and the happy are at rest; and 
nothing wakes but meditation, guilt, revelry, and 
despair. The drunkard once more fills the de¬ 
stroying bowl; the robber walks his midnight 
round; and the suicide lifts his guilty arm against 
his own sacred person. 

Let me no longer waste the night over the page 
of antiquity, or the sallies of contemporary genius, 
but pursue the solitary walk, where vanity, ever- 
changing, but a few hours past, walked before me 
—where she kept up the pageant, and now, like a 
froward child, seems hushed with her own impor¬ 
tunities. 

What a gloom hangs all around ! The dying 
lamp feebly emits a yellow gleam; no sound is 


heard but of the chiming clock or the distant 
watch-dog; all the bustle of human pride is for¬ 
gotten. An hour like this may well display the 
emptiness of human vanity. 

There will come a time when this temporary 
solitude may be made continual, and the city 
itself, like its inhabitants, fade away and leave a 
desert in its room. 

What cities, as great as this, have'once triumphed 
in existence, had their victories as great, joy as 
just and as unbounded, and with short-sighted 
presumption promised themselves immortality! 
Posterity can hardly trace the situation of some; 
the sorrowful traveler wanders over the awful ruins 
of others; and, as he beholds, he learns wisdom 
and feels the transience of every sublunary posses¬ 
sion. 







ROBERT BURNS. 


MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN. 


HEN chill November’s surly blast 
Made fields and forests bare, 
One evening, as I wander’d forth 
Along the banks of Ayr, 
l spied a man, whose aged step 
Seem’d weary’d, worn with care; 

His face was furrow’d o’er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 

Young stranger, whither wanderest thou ? 

(Began the reverend sage ;) 

Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 


Or youthful pleasures rage ? 

Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 
Too soon thou hast began, 

To wander forth, with me, to mourn 
The miseries of man ! 

The sun that overhangs yon moors, 
Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labor to support 
A haughty lordling’s pride ; 

J’ve seen yon weary winter-sun 
Twice forty times return ; 


And every time has added proofs 
That man was made to mourn. 


O man ! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time ! 
Mis-spending all thy precious hours 
Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway ; 

Licentious passions burn; 

Which tenfold force give Nature’s law, 
That man was made to mourn. 


Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood’s active might: 

Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right. 

But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn, 

Then age and want, oh ! ill-matched pair? 
Show man was made to mourn. 

Many and sharp the numerous ills 
Inwoven with our frame ! 

More pointed still we make ourselves 




Man Was Made to Moitbn. 















kOBERT BURNS. 


5i 


Regret, remorse, and Si ame i 
And man, whose heaven-erected face 
The smiles of love adorn, 

Man’s inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn ! 


Yet, let not this too much, my son. 
Disturb thy youthful breast: 

This partial view of human-kind 
Is surely not the last! 

The poor, oppressed, honest man, 


Had never, sure, been born, 

Had there not been some recompense 
To comfort those that mourn ! 

O Death ! the poor man’s dearest friend, 
The kindest and the best! 

Welcome the hour my aged limbs 
Are laid with thee at rest! 

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 
From pomp and pleasure torn; 

But, oh ! a blest relief to those 
That weary-laden mourn ! 







few®® 


■- 


“The Smith and Thee Gat Roaring Fou.” 


TAM O’SHANTER. 


|HEN chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 

* And market days are wearing late, 

An’ folks begin to tak’ the gate; 

While we sit bousing at the nappy, 

An’ gettin’ fou and unco happy, 

We think na on the lang Scots miles. 

The mosses, waters, slaps and styles, 

That lie between us and our hame, 

Where sits our sulky sullen dame, 
Gathering her brows like gathering storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 


This truth fand honest Tam O’Shanter, 

As he frae Ayr ae night did canter 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne’er a town surpasses, 
For honest men and bonnie lasses). 

O Tam ! hadst thou but been sae wise, 

As ta’en thy ain wife Kate’s advice! 

She tauld thee well thou was a skellum, 

A blethering, blustering, drunken blellura; 
That frae November till October, 

Ae market-day thou was nae sober; 

That ilka melder, wi’ the miller, 

Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 





















52 


ROBERT BURNS. 


That ev’ry naig was ca*d a shoe on, 

The smith and thee gat roaring foil on ; 
That at the Lord’s house, ev’n on Sunday, 
Thou drank wi’ Kirton Jean till Monday. 


She prophesy’d, that late or soon, 

Thou would be found deep drown’d in Doon ; 


Or catch’d wi* warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alloway’s auld hunted kirk. 


Ah, gentle dames; it gars me greet, 
To think how mony counsels sweet, 
How mony lenghten’d sage advices, 
The husband frae the wife despises ! 


■•O#—• 

. • \ 


THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT. 


OVEMBER chill blaws loud wi’ angry 
sugh ; 

The shortening winter day is near a 
close; 

The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh ; 

The blackening trains o’ craws to their repose ; 
The toil-worn cotter frae his labor goes : 

This night his weekly moil is at an end ; 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 
Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 

And weary, o’er the moor, his course does hame- 
ward bend. 



At length his lonely cot appears in view, 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 

Th’ expectant wee things, toddlin, stacher through 
To meet their dad, wi’ flicterin’ noise an’ glee. 
His wee bit ingle, blinkin bonnily, 

His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie’s smile, 
Tiie lisping infant prattling on his knee, 

Does a* his weary carking cares beguile, 

An’ makes him quite forget his labor and his 
toil. 


Belyve the elder bairns come drappin in, 

At service out, amang the farmers roun’; 

Some ca* the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 
A cannie errand to a neebor town. 

Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu’ bloom, love sparkling in her e’e, 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 
Or deposit her sair-won penny-fee, 

To help her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 


Wi’ joy unfeign’d, brothers and sisters meet, 
An’ each for other’s weelfare kindly spiers 
Th e social hours, swift-wing’d, unnoticed fleet; 
Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears: 


The parents, partial, eye their hopeful years: 

Anticipation forward points the view. 

The mother, wi’ her needle an’ her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new ; 
The father mixes a’ wi’ admonition due. 


But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o’ the same, 

TGls how a neebor lad cam’ o’er the moor, 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame. 

The wily mother sees the conscious flame 
Sparkle in Jenny’s e’e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck anxious care, inquires his 
name, 

While Jenny hafflins is afraid to speak: 

Weel pleased the mother hears it’s nae wild worth 
less rake; 


Wi’ kindly welcome Jenny brings him ben, 

A strappan youth, he taks the mother’s eye; 
Blythe'Jenny sees the visit’s no ill-ta’en : 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye, 
The youngster’s artless heart o’erflows wi’ joy. 

But blate an’ laithfu’, scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi’ a woman’s wiles, can spy 

What maks the youth sae bashfu’ an’ sae grave ; 
Weel pleased to think her bairn’s respected like 
the lave. 

O, happy love, where love like this is found ! 

O heartfelt raptures! bliss beyond compare ! 
I’ve paced much this weary, mortal round, 

And sage experience bids me this declare— 

“ If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 
One cordial in this melancholy vale, 

’Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other’s arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Beneath the milk-white thorn that scents the even* 
ing gale.” 













THE SACRIFICE OF I PHIGEN IA 

In the above engraving Sarah Bernhardt impersonates Iphigenia 
(Suggestion for Tableau) 

Let some one relate briefly just before the curtain is drawn the narrtive: “ Iphigenia was the daughter 
of King Agamemnon, who offended the godess Artemis by killing her favorite stag. As a penalty he was 
required to sacrifice his beautiful daughter. He deferred it, however, until the Greek fleet was in danger 
and then like Jeptha decided to sacrifice his daughter for his country. The tableau shows her being prepared 
by her maids f >r the sacrifice. ( Curtain drawn, and after the audience has observed the tableau for a moment 
the reader resumes.) “ But before the sacrifice could be made Artemis snatched the maiden away and carried 
her to 1 eaven,” (Curtain is quickly drawn). “The story asserts that a stag was substituted for Iphigenia, as 
the ram was in the case of Isaac." 


























THE KNACK OF ENTERTAINING ONE’S SELF. 

An interesting book is always a source of enjoyment to one who has a taste for good reading. This 
is suggestive of an interesting tableau entitled “ Lost in a Book.” 























WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 


53 


Wordsworth was one of the most famous poets of nature. He also brought 
back into popularity the sonnet, which since Milton’s day had fallen out of 
English poetry, hi is fame seems to grow with the lapse of time, and his place 
among poets is a high one. 




ODE TO 

TERN Daughter of the Voice of God ! 

O Duty ! if that name thou love 
Who art a Light to guide, a Rod 
To check the erring, and reprove; 

Thou, who art victory and law 
When empty terrors overawe ; 

From vain temptations dost set free, 

And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity 1 

There are who ask not if Thine eye 
Be on them—who, in love and truth, 

Where no misgiving is, rely 

Upon the genial sense of youth : 

Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot; 

Who do Thy work, and know it not: 

Long may the kindly impulse last! 

But Thou, if they should totter, teach them to 
stand fast 1 


DUTY. 

Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear 
The Godhead’s most benignant grace; 

Nor know we anything so fair 
As is the smile upon Thy face; 

Flowers laugh before Thee on their beds; 

And Fragrance in Thy footing treads; 

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; 

And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, aro 
fresh and strong. 

To humbler functions, awful Power ! 

I call Thee: I myself commend 
Unto Thy guidance from this hour : 

Oh, let my weakness have an end ! 

Give unto me, made lowly wise, 

The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 

The confidence of reason give, 

And in the light of truth Thy bondman let me 
live ! 





TO HIS WIFE. 


HE was a phantom of delight 

When first she gleamed upon my sight 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment’s ornament. 

Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair, 

Like Twilight’s, too, her dusky hair, 

But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; 

A dancing Shade, an Image gay, 

To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 


I saw her, upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too; 

Her household motions light and free, 
And steps of virgin-liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 


Sweet records, promises as sweet; 

A creature not too bright and good 
For human nature’s daily food. 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine; 

A being breathing thoughtful breath. 

A traveller between life and death ; 

The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 

A perfect Woman, nobly planned, 

To warn, to comfort, and command; 

And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of angelic light. 














54 


SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 


Coleridge was one of the most noted of England’s poets, essayists and 
critics. His domestic life was quite unhappy, due largely, no doubt, to his 
unfortunate personal indulgence. But the opium habit appears to have been 
overcome, and in his later years he wrote much prose, including the “ Lay 
Sermons,” “ Biographia Literaria,” and “ Aids to Reflection.” 1 he house of 
Dr. Gillman became a great resort of cultivated people, who delighted in the 
brilliant talk of Coleridge. He was always so delightful a talker that in his 
youthful days, Lamb tells us, his landlord was ready to give him free entertain-j 
ment because his conversation attracted so many customers. His manner wasj 
always animated and sometimes violent; as Wordsworth says : 

“ His limbs would toss about him with delight 
Like branches when strong winds the trees annoy. ” 

The literary character of Coleridge has been said to resemble some vast 
unfinished palace. His mind was dreamy. No man probably ever thought more 
or more intensely ; but few of his works are really worthy of his genius. 



THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 


I T IS an ancient Mariner, 

And he stoppeth one of three, 

“By thy long beard and glittering eye, 
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me? 

“The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide 
And I am next of kin; 

The guests are met, the feast is set; 

May’st hear the merry din.” 

He holds him with his skinny hand, 
“There was a ship,” quoth he. 


“Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon ! 
Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 

He holds him with his glittering eye— 
The Wedding-Guest stood still, 

And listens like a three years’ child; 
The Mariner hath his will. 

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone; 

He can not chuse but hear; 

And thus spake on that ancient man, 
The bright-eyed Mariner. 


THE PHANTOM SHIP. 

From “The Ancient Mariner.” 


T HERE passed a weary time. Each throat 
Was parched, and glazed each eye. 

A weary time ! a weary time ! 

How glazed each weary eye, 

When, looking westward, I beheld 
A something in the sky. 

At first it seemed a little speck* 

And then it seemed a mist •» 


It moved and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist. 

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! 

And still it neared and neared : 

As if it dodged a water-sprite, 

It plunged and tacked and veered. 

With throats unslacked, with black lips baked 
We could nor laugh nor wail; 





SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 


55 


Through utter drought all dumb we stood 1 
I bit my arm, l sucked the blood, 

And cried, A sail, a sail ! 

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 
Agape they heard me call ° 

Gramerey ! they for joy did grin, 

And all at once their breath drew in, 

As they were drinking alb 

See ! see * fl cried) she tacks no more ! 
Hither to work us weai; 

Without a breeze, without a tide. 

She steadies with upright keel 1 

The western wave was all a-flame. 

The day was well nigh done ! 

Almost upon the western wave 
Rested the broad bright Sun ; 

When that strange shape drove suddenly 
Betwixt us and the Sun. 

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars, 
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace !) 

As if through a dungeon-grate he peered 
With broad and burning face. 

Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat lou.!) 
How fast she nears and nears ! 

Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
Like restless gossameres ? 


Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
Did peer, as through a grate ? 

And is that Woman all her crew? 

Is that a Death ? and are there two ? 

Is Death that Woman’s mate? 

Her lips were red, her looks were free. 

Her locks were yellow as gold: 

Her skin was as white as leprosy, 

The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 

Who thicks man’s blood with cold. 

The naked hulk alongside came, 

And the twain were casting dice; 

“ The game is done ! I’ve won, I’ve won ! ” 
Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 

The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out: 

At one stride comes the dark; 

With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea, 

Off shot the specter-bark. 

We listened and looked sideways up! 

Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 

My life-blood seemed to sip ! 

The stars were dim, and thick the night, 

The steersman’s face by his lamp gleamed white; 
From the sails the dew did drip— 

Till clomb above the eastern bar 
The horned Moon, with one bright star, 

Within the nether tiD. 

X 




THE ADIEU OF THE ANCIENT MARINER. 


ORTHWITH this frame of mine was 
wrenched 

With a woeful agony 
Which forced me to begin my tale, 

And then it left me free. 

“ Since then, at an uncertain hour. 

That agony returns; 

And till my ghostly tale is told, 

This heart within me burns. 

“ I pass, like night, from land to land, 

I have strange power of speech ; 

That moment that his face I see, 

I know the man that must hear me: 

To him my tale I teach. 

« What loud uproar bursts from that door! 
The wedding guests are there. 


But in the garden-bower the bride 
And bridemaids singing are: 

And hark ! the little vesper-bell. 

Which biddeth me to prayer. 

“ O wedding guest! this soul hath been 
Alone on a wide, wide sea: 

So lonely *twas that God himself 
Scarce seemed there to be. 


“ O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
’Tis sweeter far to me, 

To walk together to the kirk, 

With a goodly company 1 

“ To walk together to the kirfc 
And all together pray, 









SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 


56 

While each to his great Father bends, 
Old men, and babes, and loving friends 
And youths and maidens gay ! 

“ Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
To thee, thou wedding guest ! 

He prayeth well who loveth well 
Both man, and bird; and beast. 

He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small; 


For the dear God who loveth us, 

He made and loveth all. ”— 

The mariner, whose eye is bright, 

Whose beard with age is hoar, 

Is gone : and now the wedding guest 
Turned from the bridegroom’s door. 

He went like one that hath been stunned 
And is of sense forlorn : 

A sadder and a wiser man 
He rose the morrow morn. 


A CALM ON THE EQUATOR. 

From “The Ancient Mariner.” 


T HE fair breeze blew; the white foam flew, 
The furrow followed free ; 

We were the first that ever burst 
Into that silent sea. 


All in a hot and copper sky, 

The bloody sun at noon, 

Right up above the mast did stand, 
No bigger than the moon. 

Day after day, day after day, 

We stuck, nor breath nor motion : 


As idle as a painted ship 
Upon a painted ocean. 

Water, water, everywhere, 

And all the boards did shrink ; 
Water, water, everywhere, 

Nor any drop to drink. 

The very deep did rot—O Christ \ 
That ever this should be ! 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
Upon the slimy sea. 

About, about, in reel and rout 
The death-fires danced at night ; 
The water, like a witch’s oils, 

Burnt green, and blue, and white. 


Down dropped the breeze, the sails dropped down, 
’Twas sad as sad could be ; 

And we did speak only to break 
The silence of the sea ! 







THOMAS MOORE. 


57 


'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 



IS THE last rose of summer. 
Left blooming alone; 

All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone; 

No flower of her kindred. 
No rosebud is nigh, 

To reflect back her blushes, 
Or give sigh for sigh ! 


I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one! 

To pine on the stem ; 

Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them. 


Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er the bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden 
Lie scentless and dead. 

So soon may / follow, 

When friendships decay, 

And from Love’s shining circle 
The gems drop away ! 

When true hearts lie wither’d. 
And fond ones are flown. 

Oh ! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone ? 


———• 0^0 — — 


THOSE EVENING BELLS. 


HOSE evening bells ! those evening bells ! 
How many a tale their music tells, 

Of youth, and home, and that sweet time 
When last I heard their soothing chime ! 



• % 

Those joyous hours are passed away! 

And many a heart, that then was gay,. 


Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 

And hears no more those evening bells! 

And so ’twill be when I am gone • 

That tuneful peal will still ring on, 

While other bards shall walk these dells. 
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells I 


- ■ «o<£o«- 


AN IDEAL HONEYMOON. 


’g HE moon — the moon, so silver and 

—* Her fickle temper has oft been told. 

Now shady, now bright and sunny ; 

But, of all the lunar things that change, 

The one that shows most fickle and strange 
And takes the most eccentric range, 

Is the moon—so-called—of honey ! 

To some a full-grown orb revealed, 

As big and as round as Norval’s shield, 

And as bright as a burner Bude-lighted ; 

To others as dull, and dingy, and damp 
As any oleaginous lamp, 

Of the regular old parochial stamp, 

In a London fog benighted. 

To the loving, a bright and constant sphere, 
That makes earth’s commonest things appear 
All poetic, romantic, and tender; 

Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump, 

And investing a common post or a pump, 

A currant-bush or gooseberry-clump, 

With a halo of dreamlike splendor- 


For all is bright, and beauteous, and clear. 

And the meanest thing most precious and dear 
When the magic of love is present: 

Love that lends a sweetness and grace 
To the humblest spot and the plainest face ; 
That turns Wilderness Row into Paradise Place, 
And Garlic Hill to Mount Pleasant. 

Love, that sweetens sugarless tea, 

And makes contentment and joy agree 
With the coarsest boarding and bedding $ 
Love, that no golden ties can attach, 

But nestles under the humblest thatch, 

And will fly away from an emperor’s match 
To dance at a penny wedding ! 

O, happy, happy, thrice happy state, 

When such a bright planet governs the fate 
Of a pair of united lovers 1 
’Tis theirs in spite of the serpent’s hiss- 
To enjoy the pure primeval kiss 
With as much of the old original bliss 
As mortality ever recovers. 
























53 


GEORGE GORDON BYRON. 


DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. 


*S||HE Assyrian came down like the wolf on 
B the fold, 

— J And his cohorts were gleaming in purple 
and gold; 

And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the 
sea 

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 

That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; 

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath 
blown, 

That host on the morrow lay wither’d and strown. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the 
blast, 

And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass’d ; 

And the eyes of the sleepers wax’d deadly and chill, 

And their hearts but once heaved, and forever 
grew still! 


And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 

But through it there roll’d not the breath of his 
pride: 

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 
turf, 

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 

With the dew on his brow and the rust on his 
mail; 

And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 

The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail. 

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the 
sword, 

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 
Lord! 



' ' 1 


APOSTROPHE TO THE OCEAN. 


From “ Childe Harold.” 



HERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 
There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes, 

By the deep sea, and music in its roar; 

I love not man the less, but nature more, 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the universe, and feel 
What I can ne’er express, yet can not all conceal. 


Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control 
Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,— 
Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin’d, and un¬ 
known. 


Thy shores are empires, changed in all save 
thee:— 

Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are 
they ? 

Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 


Has dried up realms to deserts: not so thou; 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play, 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: 
Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s 
form 

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 

Calm or convulsed,—in breeze, or gale, or 
storm, 

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sub¬ 
lime,— 

The image of Eternity,—the throne 
Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, 
alone. 

And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wanton’d with thy breakers,—they to me 
Were a delight; and if the freshening sea 
Made them a terror, ’twas a pleasing fear; 

For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 

And trusted to thy billows far and near, 

And laid ray hand upon thy mane,—as I do here. 

















FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS. 


59 


THE TREASURES 

HAT hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and I 
cells, 

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious 
Main ?— 

Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-colored shells, 
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in 
vain.— 

Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy Sea! 

We ask not such from thee. 

Yet more, the Depths have more! What wealth 
untold 

Far down, and shining through their stillness, 
lies? 

Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, 

Won from ten thousand royal Argosies.— 

Sweep o’er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful 
Main ! 

Earth claims not these again ! 

Yet more, the Depths have more! Thy waves 
have rolled 

Above the cities of a world gone by ! 

Sand hath filled up the palaces of old, 

Seaweed o’ergrown the halls of revelry! 

Dash o’er them, Ocean ! in thy scornful play— 
Man yields them to decay ! 


OF THE DEEP. 

Yet more! the Billows and the Depths have 
more! 

High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast! 

They hear not now the booming waters roar, 

The battle-thunders will not break their rest;— 

Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy 
grave— 

Give back the true and brave! 

Give back the lost and lovely! those for whom 

The place was kept at board and hearth so long, 

The prayer went up through midnight’s breathless 
gloom, 

And the vain yearning woke ’midst festal song! 

Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o’er* 
thrown,— 

But all is not thine own 1 

To thee the love of woman hath gone down, 

Dark flow thy tides o’er manhood’s noble head, 

O’er youth’s bright locks and beauty’s flowery 
crown:— 

Yet must thou hear a voice—Restore the Dead ! 

Earth shall reclaim her precious things from 
thee— 

Restore the Dead, thou Sea! 



■ »ofro» 


THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS. 


HE breaking waves dashed high 

On a stern and rock-bound coast. 
And the woods against a stormy sky 
Their giant branches tossed ; 

And the heavy night hung dark 
The hills and waters o’er, 

When a band of exiles moored their bark 
On the wild New England shore. 

Not as the conqueror comes, 

They the true-hearted came; 

Not with the roll of stirring drums 
And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 

Not as the flying come, 

In silence and in fear :— 

They shook the depths of the desert gloom 
With their hymns of lofty cheer. 

Amid the storm they sang, 

Till the stars heard and the sea; 

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang 
To the anthem of the free ; 



The ocean-eagle soared 

From his nest by the white wave’s foam, 

And the rocking pines of the forest roared; 
Such was their welcome home. 

There were men with hoary hair 
Amid that Pilgrim band ;— 

Why had they come to wither there, 

Away from their childhood’s land? 

There was woman’s fearless eye, 

Lit by her deep love’s truth ; 

There was manhood’s brow serenely high, 

And the fiery heart of youth. 

What sought they thus afar ?— 

Bright jewels of the mine? 

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?— 

They sought a faith’s pure shrine ! 

Yes ; call that holy ground, 

The soil where first they trod. 

They have left: unstained what there they found, 
Freedom to worship God. 















6o 


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, 


THANATOPSIS* 

V 

The following production is called the beginning of American poetry. 

That a young man not yet 19 should have produced a poem so lofty in conception, so full of chaste lan* 
guage and delicate and striking imagery, and, above all, so pervaded by a noble and cheerful religious 
philosophy, may well be regarded as one of the most remarkable examples of early maturity in literary 
history. 


0 him who, in the love of Nature, holds 
Communion with her visible forms, she 
speaks 

A various language ; for his gayer hours 
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile 
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 
Into his darker musings with a mild 
And healing sympathy, that steals away 
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts 
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight 
Over thy spirit, and sad images 
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, 

And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, 
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;— 

Go forth, under the open sky, and list 
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— 
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air— 

Comes a still voice.—Yet a few days, and thee 
The all-beholding sun shall see no more 
In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, 

Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist 

Thy image. Earth, that nourish’d thee, shall claim 

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again; 

And, lost each human trace, surrendering up 
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 
To mix forever with the elements, 

To be a brother to the insensible rock 
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain 
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak 
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place 
Shalt thou retire alone,—nor couldst thou wish 
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings, 
The powerful of the earth—the wise, the good, 

Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 

All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
Rock-ribb’d and ancient as the sun,—the vales 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 

The venerable woods,—rivers that move 


In majesty, and the complaining brooks 

That make the meadows green ; and, pour’d round all, 

Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,— 

Are but the solemn decorations all 

Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 

Are shining on the sad abodes of death, 

Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings 
Of morning, traverse Barca’s desert sands, 

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
Save its own dashings,—yet—the dead are there, 
And millions in those solitudes, since first 
The flight of years began, have laid them down 
In their last sleep,—the dead reign there alone. 

So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw 
In silence from the living, and no friend 
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe 
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase 
His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 
And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
Of ages glides away, the sons of men— 

The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes 
In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 

And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man— 
Shall, one by one, be gather’d to thy side, 

By those who in their turn shall follow them. 

So live that, when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, which moves 
To that mysterious realm where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 

Scourged to his dungeon ; but, sustain’d and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 


♦O 



WAITING BY THE GATE. 



ESIDES the massive gateway built up in 
years gone by, 

Upon whose top the clouds in eternal 
shadow lie, 


While streams the evening sunshine on the quiet 
wood and lea, 

I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for 
me. 


♦ The following copyrighted selections from Wm. Cullen Bryant are inserted by permission of D. Appleton & Co., the pub* 
hers of his works. 1 













AN INTERESTING QUEEN AND HER TWO BOYS. 

Queen Louise of Prussia, whose picture is here shown, was considered one of the most beautiful women 
of her time. From this group may be made the interesting tableau “ The Boy Will Be 

What Mother Makes Him.” 






































WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 


61 


The tree tops faintly rustle beneath the breeze’s flight, 

A soft soothing sound, yet it whispers of the night; 

I hear the woodthrush piping one mellow- descant 
more, 

And scent the flowers that How when the heat of 
day is o’er. 

Behold the portals open and o’er the threshold, now, 

There steps a wearied one with pale and furrowed 
brow; 

His count of years is full, his alloted task is wrought; 

He passes to his rest from a place that needs him not. 

In sadness, then, I ponder how quickly fleets the 
hour 

Of human strength and action, man’s courage and 
his power. 

I muse while still the woodthrush sings down the 
golden day, 

And as I look and listen the sadness wears away. 

Again the hinges turn, and a youth, departing throws 

A look of longing backward, and sorrowfully goes; 

A blooming maid, unbinding the roses from her hair, 

Moves wonderfully away from amid the young and 
fair. 

Oh, glory of our race that so suddenly decays! 

Oh, crimson flush of morning, that darkens as we 
gaze! 

Oh, breath of summer blossoms that on the restless air 

'Scatters a moment’s sweetness and flies we know not 
where. 

[ grieve for life’s bright promise, just shown and 
then withdrawn ; 


But still the sun shines round me; the evening birds 
sing on; 

And I again am soothed, and beside the ancient gate, 

In this soft evening sunlight, I calmly stand and 
wait. 

Once more the gates are opened, an infant group go 
out, 

The sweet smile quenched forever, and stilled the 
sprightly shout. 

Oh, frail, frail tree of life, that upon the greensward 
strews 

Its fair young buds unopened, with every wind that 
blows! 

So from every region, so enter side by side, 

The strong and faint of spirit, the meek and men of 
pride, 

Steps of earth’s greatest, mightiest, between those 
pillars gray, 

And prints of little feet, that mark the dust away. 

And some approach the threshold whose looks are 
blank with fear, 

And some whose temples brighten with joy are draw¬ 
ing near, 

As if they saw dear faces, and caught the gracious 
eye 

Of Him, the Sinless Teacher, who came for us to die. 

I mark the joy, the terrors; yet these, within my 
heart, 

Can neither wake the dread nor the longing to 
depart; 

And, in the sunshine streaming of quiet wood and lea, 

I stand and calmly wait until the hinges turn for me< 


BLESSED ABE THEY THAT MOURN.” 


DEEM not they are blest alone 

Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep; 
The Power who pities man has shown 
A blessing for the eyes that weep. 

The light oi smiles shall fill again 
The lids that overflow with tears; 

And weary hours of woe and pain 
Are promises of happier years. 

There is a day of sunny rest 

Eor every dark and troubled night; 

And grief may bide an evening guest, 

But joy shall come with early light. 


And thou, who, o’er thy friend’s low bier, 
Sheddest the bitter drops like rain, 

Hope that a brighter, happier sphere 
Will give him to thy arms again. 

Nor let the good man’s trust depart, 
Though life its common gifts deny,— 
Though with a pierced and bleeding heart. 
And spurned of men, he goes to die. 

For God hath marked each sorrowing day, 
And numbered every secret tear, 

And heaven’s long age of bliss shall pay 
For all his children suffer here. 










62 


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 


ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 


ERRILY swinging on brier and weed, 
Near to the nest of his little dame, 
Over the mountain-side or mead, 

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 

Snug and safe is that nest of ours, 

Hidden among the summer flowers. 

Chee, chee, chee. 



Six white eggs on a bed of hay, 

Flecked with purple, a pretty sight 
There as the mother sits all day, 

Robert is singing with all his might: 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 

Nice good wife, that never goes out, 
Keeping house while I frolic about. 
Chee, chee, chee. 


Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, 

Wearing a bright black wedding coat; 
White are his shoulders and white his crest, 
Hear him call in his merry note: 

Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 

Look what a nice new coat is mine, 

Sure there was never a bird so fine. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln’s Quaker wife, 

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, 
Passing at home a patient life, 

Broods in the grass while her husband sings, 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear 
Thieves and robbers, while I am here. 

Chee, chee, chee. 

Modest and shy as a nun is she, 

One weak chirp is her only note, 

Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, 

Pouring boasts from his little throat: 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 

Never was I afraid of man ; 

Catch me, cowardly knaves if you can. 

Chee, chee, chee. 


Soon as the little ones chip the shell 
Six wide mouths are open for food; 
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him w r ell, 
Gathering seed for the hungry brood. 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink; 

This new life is likely to be 
Hard for a gay young fellow like me. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Robert of Lincoln at length is made 
Sober with work and silent with care; 
Off is his holiday garment laid, 

Half-forgotten that merry air, 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o’-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 

Nobody knows but my mate and I 
Where our nest and our nestlings lie. 
Chee, chee, chee. 

Summer wanes ; the children are grown; 

Fun and frolic no more he knows; 
Robert of Lincoln’s a humdrum crone; 
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: 
Bob-o’-link, bob-o'-link, 

Spink, spank, spink ; 

When you can pipe that merry old strain, 
Robert of Lincoln, come back again. 

Chee, chee, chee. 




BROUGHT. 


LUNGED amid the limpid waters, 

Or the cooling shade beneath, 

Let me fly the scorching sunbeams, 
And the southwind’s sickly breath i 


Sirius burns the parching meadows, 
Flames upon the embrowning hill, 
Dries the foliage of the forest, 

And evaporates the rill. 














WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANS. 


Scarce is seen the lonely floweret, 
Save amid the embowering wood -, 
O’er the prospect dim and dreary, 
Drought presides in sullen mood 1 

Murky vapours hung in ether, 
Wrap in gloom, the sky serene; 


6 

Nature pants distressful—silence 
Reigns o’er all the sultry scene. 

Then amid the limpid waters, 

Or beneath the cooling shade, 

Let me shun the scorching sunbeams 
And the sickly breeze evade. 


. ■ - 40 # - - 

THE PAST. 


No poet, perhaps, in the world is so exquisite in rhythm, or classically pure and accurate in language, so 
appropriate in diction, phrase or metaphor as Bryant. 

He dips his pen in words as an inspired painter his pencil in colors. The following poem is a fair specimen 
of his deep vein in his chosen serious themes. Pathos is pre-eminently his endowment but the tinge of 
melancholy in his treatment is always pleasing. 


HOU unrelenting Past! 

Strong are the barriers round thy dark 
domain, 

And fetters, sure and fast, 

Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 

Far in thy realm withdrawn 
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 

And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth, 

Youth, Manhood, Age that draws us to the ground, 

And, last, Man’s Life on earth, 

Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years, 

Thou hast my earlier friends—the good—the kind, 

Yielded to thee with tears,— 

The venerable form—the exalted mind. 

My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back ;—yearns with desire intense, 

And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 

In vain :—thy gates deny 
All passage save to those who hence depart; 

Nor to the streaming eye 
Thou giv’st them back,—nor to the broken heart. 

In thy abysses hide 

Beauty and excellence unknown :—to thee 

Earth’s wonder and her pride 
Are gather’d, as the waters to the sea; 


Labors of good to man, 

Unpublish’d charity, unbroken faith,— 

Love, that midst grief began, 

And grew with years, and falter’d not in death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unutter’d, unrevered; 

With thee are silent fame, 

Forgotten alts, and wisdom disappear’d. 

Thine for a space are they:— 

Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last; 

Thy gates shall yet give way, 

Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past! 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time, 
Shall then come forth, to wear 
The glory and the beauty of its prime. 

They have not perish’d—no ! 

Kind words, remember’d voices once so sweet, 
Smiles, radiant long ago, 

And features, the great soul’s apparent seat, 

All shall come back; each tie 
Of pure affection shall be knit again; 

Alone shall Evil die, 

And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign. 

And then shall I behold 
Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung, 

And her who, still and cold, 

Fills the next grave,—the beautiful and young. 





OH, FAIREST OF THE RURAL MAIDS 


Oh, fairest of the rural maids ! 

Thy birth was in the forest shades ; 
Green boughs, and glimpses of the sky, 
Were all that met the infant eye. 


Thy sports, thy wanderings when a child. 
Were ever in the sylvan wild ; 

And all the beauty of the place 
Is in thy heart and on thy face. 













64 


WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 


The twilight of the trees and rocks 
Is in the light shade of thy locks ; 
Thy step is as the wind, that weaves 
Its playful way among the leaves. 


The forest depths, by foot impress’d, 
Are not more sinless than thy breast 
The holy peace that tills the air 
Of those calm solitudes, is there. 


-•O*- 


A CORN-SHUCKING! IN SOUTH CAROLINA. 

From u The Letters of a Traveler .” 

In 1843, during Mr. Bryant’s visit to the South, he had the pleasure of witnessing one of those ante¬ 
bellum southern institutions known as aCorn-Shucking—one of the ideal occasions of the colored man’s 
life, to which both men and women were invited. They were free to tell all the jokes, sing all the songs 
and have all the fun they desired as they rapidly shucked the corn. Two leaders were usually chosen and 
the company divided into two parties which competed for a prize awarded to the first party -which 
finished shucking the allotted pile of corn. Mr. Bryant thus graphically describes one of these novel 
occasions: 



Barnwell District, ) 
South Carolina, March 29, 1843. j 

■^UT you must hear of the corn-shucking. 

The one at which I was present was given 
on purpose that I might witness the hu¬ 
mors of the Carolina negroes. A huge fire of light- 
wood was made near the corn-house. Light-wood 
is the wood of the long-leaved pine, and is so called,, 
not because it is light, for it is almost the heaviest 
wood in the world, but because it gives more light 
than any other fuel. 

The light-wood-fire was made, and the negroes 


dropped in from the neighboring plantations, singing 
as they came The driver of the plantation, a*col- 
ored man, brought out baskets of corn in the husk, 
and piled it in a heap; and the negroes began to 
strip the husks from the ears, singing with great 
glee as they worked, keeping time to the music, and 
now and then throwing in a joke and an extravagant 
burst of laughter. The songs were generally of a 
comic character; but one of them was set to a sin¬ 
gularly wild and plaintive air, which some of our 
musicians would do well to reduce to notation. 
These are the words :' 


Johnny come down de hollow. 

Oh hollow ! 
Johnny come down de hollow. 

Oh hollow ! 

De nigger-trader got me. 

Oh hollow! 

De speculator bought me. 

Oh hollow ! 

I’m sold for silver dollars. 

Oh hollow! 


Bovs, go catch the pony. 

Oh hollow! 

Bring him round the corner. 

Oh hollow! 

I’m goin’ away to Georgia. 

Oh hollow ! 

Boys, good-by forever! 

Oh hollow ! 

The song of “ Jenny gone away,” was also given, 
and another, called the monkey-song, probably of 
African origin, in which the principal singer person¬ 
ated a monkey, with all sorts of odd gesticulations, 
and the other negroes bore part in the chorus, “ Dan, 
dan, who’s the dandy?” One of the songs com¬ 
monly sung on these occasions, represents the various 
animals of the woods as belonging to some profession 
or trade. For example— 

De cooter is de boatman— 

The cooter is the terrapin, and a very expert boat¬ 
man he is. 


De cooter is de boatman. 

John John Crow. 

De red-bird de soger. 

John John Crow. 

De mocking-bird de lawyer. 

John John Crow. 

De alii gator sawyer 

John John Crow. 

The alligator’s back is furnished with a toothed 

ridge, like the edge of a saw, which explains the 
last line. 









WILLIAM CULLEN BEYANT 


When the work of the evening was over the 
negroes adjourned to a spacious kitchen. One of 
them took his place as musician, whistling, and beat¬ 
ing time with two sticks upon the floor. Several of 
the men came forward and executed various dances, 
eapering, prancing, and drumming with heel and toe 
upon the floor, with astonishing agility and persever¬ 
ance, though all of them had performed their daily 
tasks and had worked all the evening, and some had 
walked from four to seven miles to attend the corn- 
shucking. From the dances a transition was made 
to a mock military parade, a sort of burlesque of our 
militia trainings, in which the words of command 
and the evolutions were extremely ludicrous. It be¬ 
came necessary for the commander to make a speech, 
and confessing his incapacity for public speaking, he 
called upon a huge black man named Toby to ad¬ 


65 

dress the company in his stead. Toby, a man of 
powerful frame, six feet high, his face ornamented 
with a beard of fashionable cut, had hitherto stood 
leaning*against the wall, looking upon the frolic with 
an air of superiority. He consented, came forward, 
demanded a bit of paper to hold in his hand, and 
harangued the soldiery. It was evident that Toby 
had listened to stump-speeches in his day. He spoke 
of “ de majority of Sous Carolina,” “ de interests of' 
de state,” “ de honor of ole Ba’nwell district,” and 
these phrases he connected by various expletives, and 
sounds of which we could make nothing. At length 
he began to falter, when the captain with admirable 
presence of mind came to his relief, and interrupted 
and closed the harangue with an hurrah from the 
company. Toby was allowed by all the spectators, 
black and white, to have made an excellent speech. 



CORN-SHUCKING IN SOUTH CAROLINA. 
































































THOMAS HOOD. 

HUMORIST AND POET 

LTHOUGH Thomas Hood is chiefly remembered by his three 
poems, “The Song of the Shirt,” “ The Bridge of Sighs,” and 
“Eugene Aram,” he was one of the most copious writers of his 
time. He was apprenticed in his youth to a wood-engraver, and 
had some success as a comic draughtsman. He began very early 
to write verses for periodicals, and, in 1822, became assistant 
editor of The London Magazine. He was now thrown into the 
company of a most brilliant circle of literary men, including DeOuincey, Hazlitt, 
and Lamb. He married in 1824, and, with the aid of his brother-in-law, published a 
small volume of “ Odes and Addresses to Great People.” A short time afterward 
he wrote a series of magazine articles called “Whims and Oddities,” illustrated by 
himself, and soon became a very popular writer. In 1830 Hood began the publi¬ 
cation of the Comic Annual ,, which continued for eleven years. The failure of a 
business house with which he was connected involved him in great financial diffi¬ 
culty, and, refusing to take advantage of legal bankruptcy, he resolved, in order to 
live with greater economy, to remove to Coblenz in Germany, and, like Sir Walter 
Scott, pay his indebtedness by the work of his pen. He resided abroad for five 
years, returning to London in 1840, where he was editor of the New Monthly 
for two or three years. A pension was granted him in 1844, but he lived to enjoy 
it only until the following year. Hood has been regarded too exclusively as a 
humorist. In his best poems the element of humor is entirely wanting, but in most 
of his work there is a wonderful blending of humor and pathos, “ He tempts men to 
laugh, and then leads them to pity and relieve.” Though his wit was caustic, it was 
never coarse, and no single suggestion of impurity can be found in any of his writings. 




THE SONG OP THE SHIRT. 


|rfM 1 ITH fingers weary and worn. 

With eyelids heavy and red, 

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 
Plying her needle and thread— 

Stitch 1 stitch ! stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 

And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, 
She sang the “ Song of the Shirt 1 
66 


“ Work ! work ! work ! 

While the cock is crowing aloof! 
And work—work—work! 

Till the stars shine through the roof! 
It’s oh! to be a slave 
Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 
If this is Christian work * 



























THOMAS HOOD 


Work—work—work ! 

Till the brain begins to swim • 
Work—work—work ! 

Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band, 

Band, and gusset, and seam, 

Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 
And sew them on in my dream ! 


“ But why do I talk of death, 

That phantom of grisly bene ? 

I hardly fear his terrible shape, 

It seems so like my own— 

It seems so like my own, 

Because of the fast I keep : 

Oh God! that bread should be so dear. 
And flesh and blood so cheap ! 



“ Oh God ! that bread should he so dear, 
And flesh and blood so cheap ! ’ ’ 


Oh ! men with sisters dear ! 

Oh ! men with mothers and wives ! 
It is not linen you’re wearing out, 
But human creatures’ lives ! 

Stitch—stitch—stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
Sewing at once, with double thread, 
A shroud as well as a shirt 1 


“ Work—work—work ! 

My labor never flags ; 

And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, 
A crust of bread—and rags : 

A shatter’d roof—and this naked floor— 
A table—a broken chair— 

And a wall so blank my shadow I thank 
For sometimes falling there 1 
























68 


THOMAS HOOD. 


Work—work—work ! 

From weary -chime to chime, 

Work—work—work ! 

As prisoners work for crime ! 

Band, and gusset, arid seam, 

Seam, and gusset, and band, 

Till the heart is sick and the brain benumb’d, 
As well as the weary hand ! 

“ Work—work—w r ork ! 

In the dull December light: 

And work—work-—work ! 

When the weather is warm and bright: 
While underneath the eaves 
The brooding swallow's cling, 

As if to show me their sunny backs, 

And twit me with the spring. 

Oh \ but to breathe the breath 

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet ; 

With the sky above my head, 

And the grass beneath my feet.: 


For only one short hour 
To feel as I used to feel, 

Before I knew the woes of want. 

And the walk that costs a meal! 

“ Oh ! but for one short hour i 
A respite, however brief! 

No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief! 

A little weeping would ease my heart,*—* 
But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 
Hinders needle and thread ! ” 

With fingers w r eary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, 

. Plying her needle and thread ; 

Stitch—stitch—stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,— 
Would that its tone could reach the rich !•— 1 
She sung th ; s “ Song of the Shirt 1 ** 


•o^o*- 


THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 

“ Drown’d ! Drown’d l”—H amlet. 


1NE more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly, 

Taft her with care ; 
Fashion’d so slendeily, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements; 
While the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing.— 

Touch her not scornfully; 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly; 

Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 

Make no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful: 


Past all dishonor, 

Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 
One of Eve’s family,— 

Wipe those poor lips of hers. 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 

Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses. 
Where was her home ? 

Who was her father ? 

Who was her mother ? 

Had she a sister? 

Had she a brother ? 

Or was there a dearer onff 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other? 

Alas ! for the rarity 
Of Christian chanty 
Under the sun 1 









THOMAS HOOD. 


69 


Oh ! it was pitiful! 

Near a whole city full. 
Home had she none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly, 
Feelings had changed : 
Love, by harsh evidence, 



The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver : 
But not the dark arch, 

Or the black flowing river: 
Mad from life’s history, 

Glad to death’s mystery, 

Swift to be hurl’d— 
Anywhere, anywhere, 

Out of the world ! 

In she plunged boldly. 

No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran,— 

Over the brink of it. 

Picture it, think of it, 
Dissolute Man ! 

Lave in it, drink of it, 

Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly. 

Lilt her with care ; 

Fashion’d so slenderly. 

Young, and so fair ! 


Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly. 

Decently,—kindly,— 
Smooth, and compose them; 
And her eyes close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring 
Thro’ muddy impurity. 

As when with, the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fix’d on futurity. 


“ Take her up tenderly; 

Lift her with care.” 

Thrown from its eminence; 
Even God’s providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 

With many a light 

From window and casement, 

From garret to basement, 

She stood, with amazement. 
Houseless by night. 


Perishing gloomily, 

Spurr’d by contumely, 

Cold inhumanity. 

Burning insanity, 

Into her rest,—• 

Cross her hands humbly, 

As if praying dumbly. 

Over her breast! 

Owning her weakness, 

Her evil behavior, 

And leaving, with meekness, 
Her sins to her Saviour. 
















70 


RALPH WALDO EMERSON 


While we class Emerson with the poets, he was, perhaps, even greater as a 
philosopher and essayist. No man in American literature is so distinguished for 
the subtlety or originality of his intellect, and everything he wrote, whether 
philosophy, biography or essay was surcharged with poetic imagery. 

» o> 


HYMN SUNG AT THE COMPLETION OF THE CONCORD MONUMENT, 1836. 



the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 
Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 


On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
We set to day a votive stone, 

That memory may their deed redeem 
When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 


The foe long since in silence slept; 

Alike the conqueror silent sleeps 5 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 


Spirit that made those heroes dare 
To die or leave their children frec / 
Bid Time and Nature gently spare 
The shaft we raise to them and thee. 


THE RHODORA. 


N May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes, 
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods, 
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook, 
To please the desert and the sluggish brook ; 
The purple petals fallen in the pool 

Made the black waters with their beauty gay; 
Young Raphael might covet such a school; 

The lively show beguiled me from my way. 
Rhodora ! if the sages ask thee why 



This charm is wasted on the marsh and sky, 

Dear tell them, that if eyes were made for seeing, 
Then beauty is its own excuse for being. 

Why, thou wert there, 0, rival of the rose! 

I never thought to ask, I never knew, 

But in my simple ignorance suppose 
The selfsame Power that brought me there, brongtr. 
you. 


-*<>♦- 


THE TRUE HERO. 

AN EXTRACT FROM VOLUNTARIES./* 

The following story is told of the manner in which the poem, “Voluntaries/* obtained its title. In 1863, 
Mr. Emerson came to Boston and took a room in the Parker House, bringing with him the unfinished sketch 
of a few verses which he wished Mr. Fields, his publisher, to hear. He drew a small table to the centre 
of the room and ^ead aloud the lines he proposed giving to the press. They were written on separate slips 
of paper which were flying loosely about the room. (Mr. Emerson frequently wrote in such independent 
paragraphs, that many of his poems and essays might be rearranged without doing them serious violence.) 
The question arose as to title of the verses read, when Mr. Fields suggested “ Voluntaires, *' which was cor¬ 
dially accepted by Mr. Emerson. 


WELL for the fortunate soul 
Which Music’s wings unfold, 
Stealing away the memory 
Of sorrows new and old ! 

Yet happier he whose inward sight, 
Stayed on his subtle thought, 

Shuts his sense on toys of time, 

To vacant bosoms brought; 

But best befriended of the God 
He who, in evil times, 

Warned by an inward voice, 


Heeds not the darkness and the dread, 
Biding by his rule and choice. 

Telling only the fiery thread, 

Leading over heroic ground 
Walled with immortal terror round, 

To the aim which him allures, 

And the sweet heaven his deed secures. 
Peril around all else appalling, 

Cannon in front and leaden rain, 

Him duty through the clarion calling 
To the van called not in vain. 

























RALPH WALDO 


EMERSON. 


Stainless soldier on the walls, 

Knowing this,—and knows no more,— 
Whoever fights, whoever falls, 

Justice conquers evermore, 

Justice after as before ;— 

And he who battles on her side, 

Ood, though he were ten times slain, 
Crowns him victor glorified, 

Victor over death and pain 


7i 

Forever : but his erring foe, * 

Self-assured that he prevails, 

Looks from his victim lying low, 

And sees aloft the red right arm 
Redress the eternal scales. 

He, the poor for whom angels foil, 

Blind with pride and fooled by hate, 

Writhes within the dragon coil, 

Reserved to a speechless fate. 


♦O*- 


MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL. 


HE mountain and the squirrel 
Had a quarrel; 

And the former called the latter “ Little 


Bun replied: 

“ You are doubtless very big; 

But all sorts of things and weather 
Must be taken in together, 

To make up a year 
And a sphere. 


And I think it no disgrace 
To occupy my place. 

If I’m not so large as you, 

You are not so small as I, 

And not half so spry. 

I’ll not deny you make 
A very pretty squirrel track ; 

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; 
If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
Neither can you crack a nut.” 



THE SNOW STORM. 


NNOUNCED by all the trumpets of the sky 
Arrives the snow, and driving o’er the 
fields, 

Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air 
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven, 
And veils the farm-house at the garden’s end. 

The sled and traveler stopp’d, the courier’s feet 
Delay’d, all friends shut out, the housemates sit 
Around the radiant fire-place, enclosed 
In a tumultuous privacy of storm. 

Come see the north-wind’s masonry. 

Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
Furnish’d with tile, the fierce artificer 
Curves his white bastions with projected roof 
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door. 



Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work 
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he 
For number or proportion. Mockingly 
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths; 

A swan-like form invests the hidden thorn; 

Fills up the farmer’s lane from wall to wall, 
Maugre the farmer’s sighs, and at the gate 
A tapering turret overtops the work. 

And when his hours are number’d, and the work* 
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not, 

Leaves, when the sun appears, astonish’d Art 
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, 

Built in an age, the mad wind’s night-work-* 

The frolic architecture of the snow. 






i 






i 


















72 


NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. 


DAVID’S LAMENT FOR ABSALOM. 


HE waters slept. Night’s silvery veil hung 

On Jordan’s bosom, and the eddies curled 
Their glassy lings beneath it, like the still, 
Unbroken beating of the sleeper’s pulse. 

The reeds bent down the stream: the willow leaves 
With a soft cheek upon the lulling tide, 

Forgot the lifting winds; and the long stems 
Whose flowers the water, like a gentle nurse 
Bears on its bosom, quietly gave way, 

And leaned, in graceful attitude, to rest. 

How strikingly the course of nature tells 
By its light heed of human suffering, 

That it was fashioned for a happier world. 

King David’s limbs were weary. He had fled 
From far Jerusalem : and now he stood 
With his faint people, for a little space, 

Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind 
Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow, 

To its refreshing breath ; for he had worn 
The mourner’s covering, and had not felt 
That he could see his people until now. 

They gathered round him on the fresh green bank 
And spoke their kindly words: and as the sun 
Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, 

And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. 

Oh ! when the heart is full,—when bitter thoughts 
Come crowding thickly up for utterance, 

And the poor common words of courtesy, 

Are such a very mockery—how much 
The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! 

He prayed for Israel : and his voice went up 
Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those, 
Whose love had been his shield: and his deep tones 
Grew tremulous. But, oh ! for Absalom,—• 

For his estranged, misguided Absalom,— 

The proud bright being who had burst away 

In all his princely beauty, to defy 

The heart that cherished him—for him he poured 

In agony that would not be controlled 

Strong supplication, and forgave him there, 

Before his God, for his deep sinfulness. 

* ijc * * * # 

The pall was settled. He who slept beneath 
Was straightened for (he grave: and as the folds 
Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed 
The matchless symmetry of Absalom. 

His hair was yet unshorn, and silken curls 
Were floating round the tassels as they swayed 
To the admitted air, as glossy now 
As when in hours of gentle dalliance, bathing 
The snowy fingers of Judea’s girls. 

His helm was at his feet: his banner soiled 


With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid, 
Reversed, beside him ; and the jeweled hilt 
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade, 
Rested like mockery on his covered brow. 

The soldiers of the king trod to and fro, 

Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief, 

The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier, 

And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly, 

As if he feared the slumberer might stir. 

A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade 
As if a trumpet rang: but the bent form 
Of David entered, and he gave command 
In a low tone to his few followers, 

And left him with his dead. The King stood still 
Till the last echo died : then, throwing off 
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back 
The pall from the still features of his child, 

He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth 
In the resistless eloquence of woe: 

“ Alas ! my noble boy ! that thou should’st die,-- 
Thou who wert. made so beautifully fair! 

That death should settle in thy glorious eye, 

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair— 
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb; 

My proud boy, Absalum! 

“ Cold is thy brow, my son ! and I am chill 
As to my bosom 1 have tried to press thee— 

How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, 

Like a rich harp string, yearning to caress thee— 
And hear thy sweet ‘ Mjj father ,’ from these dumb 
And cold lips, Absalom ! 

“ The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush 
Of music, and the voices of the young: 

And life will pass me in the mantling blush, 

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung:,— 
But thou no more with thy sweet voice shall come 
To meet me, Absalom ! 

“ And, oh ! when I am stricken, and my heart 
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, 

How will its love for thee, as I depart, 

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! 

It were so sweet, amid death’s gathering gloom, 

To see thee, Absalom ! 

“ And now farewell. ’Tis hard to give thee up, 
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee; 

And thy dark sin—oh ! I could drink the cup 
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. 

May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, 
My lost boy, Absalom 1” 






NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS. 


73 


He covered up his face, and bowed himself 
A moment on his child ; then giving him 
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped 
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer: 


And as if strength were given him of God, 
He rose up calmly and composed the pall 
Firmly and decently,—and left him there, 
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. 


<>♦ 


THE HYING ALCHEMIST. 


HE night-wind with a desolate moan swept by, 
And the old shutters of the turret swung 
Creaking upon their hinges; and the moon, 
As the torn edges of the clouds flew past, 
Struggled aslant the stained and broken panes 
So dimly, that the watchful eye of death 
Scarcely was conscious when it went and came. 

The fire beneath his crucible was low, 

Yet still it burned : and ever, as his thoughts 
Grew insupportable, he raised himself 
Upon his wasted arm, and stirred the coals 
With difficult energy; and when the rod 
Fell from his nerveless fingers, and his eye 
Felt faint within its socket, he shrank back 
Upon his pallet, and, with unclosed lips, 

Muttered a curse on death ! 

The silent room, 

From its dim corners, mockingly gave back 
His rattling breath ; the humming in the fire 
Had the distinctness of a knell; and when 
Duly the antique horologe beat one, 

He drew a phial from beneath his head, 

And drank. And instantly his lips compressed, 

And, with a shudder in his skeleton frame, 

He rose with supernatural strength, and sat 
Upright, and communed with himself: 

“ I did not think to die 
Till I had finished what I had to do; 

I thought to pierce th’ eternal secret through 
With this my mortal eye; 

I felt,—Oh r God ! it seemeth even now— 

This cannot ne the death-dew on my brow; 

Grant me another year, 

God of my spirit!—but a day,—to win 
Something to satisfy this thirst within ! 

I w T ould know something here ! 

Break for me but one seal that is unbroken ! 

Speak for me but one word that is unspoken ! 

“ Vain,—vain,—my brain is turning 
With a swift dizziness, and my heart grows sick, 

And these hot temple-throbs come fast and thick, 
And I am freezing,—burning,— 

Dying! Oh, God ! if L might only live! 

My phial-Ha! it thrills me,—I revive. 


“ Aye,—were not man to die, 

He were too mighty for this narrow sphere ! 

Had he but time to brood on knowledge here,— 
Could he but train his eye,— 

Might he but wait the mystic word and hour,— 

Only his Maker would transcend his power! 

“ This were indeed to feel 
The soul-thirst slacken at the living stream,— 

To live, Oh, God ! that life is but a dream ! 

And death-Aha ! I reel,— 

Dim,—dim,—I faint, darkness comes o’er my eye,— 
Cover me ! save me !-God of heaven ! I die! ” 

Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. 

No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips, 

Open and ashy pale, th’ expression wore 
Of his death struggle. His long silvery hair 
Lay on his hollow temples, thin and wild, 

His frame was wasted, and his features wan 
And haggard as with want, and in his palm 
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe 
Of the last agony had wrung him sore. 

The storm was raging still. The shutter swung, 
Creaking as harshly in the fitful wind, 

And all without went on.—as aye it will, 

Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart 
Is breaking, or has broken, in its change. 

The fire beneath the crucible was out. 

The vessels of his mystic art lay round, 

Useless and cold as the ambitious hand 
That fashioned them, and the small rod, 1 
Familiar to his touch for threescore years, 

Lay on th’ alembic’s rim, as if it still 
Might vex the elements at its master’s will. 

And thus had passed from its unequal frame 
A soul of fire,—a sun-bent eagle stricken, 

From his high soaring, down,—an instrument 
Broken with its own compass. Oh, how poor 
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies, 

Like the adventurous bird that hath outflown 
His strength upon the sea, ambition wrecked,— 

A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits 
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest. 













74 


HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, 


THE VILLAGE 

NDER a spreading chestnut tree 
The village smithy stands ; 

The smith, a mighty man is he, 

With large and sinewy hands; 

And the muscles of his brawny arms 
Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long; 

His face is like the tan ; 

His brow is wet with honest sweat; 



BLACKSMITH. 

He earns whate’er he can, 

And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow; 

You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow, 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell 
When the evening sun is low. 


They love to see the flaming forge, 
And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from the threshing floor. 



And children coming home from school 
Look in at the open door; 

They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 

And catch the burning sparks that fly 
Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys; 

He hears the parson pray and preach, 
He hears his daughter’s voice, 
Singing in the village choir, 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 


It sounds to him like her mother’s voice, 
Singing in Paradise! 

He needs must think of her once more, 
How in the grave she lies; 

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing— 

Onward through life he goes: 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close j 




























































































HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 


75 


Something attempted—something done, 
Has earned a night’s repose. 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend 
For the lesson thou hast taught! 


Thus at the flaming forge of Life 
Our fortunes must be wrought, 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
Each burning deed and thought. 


o 


THE BRIDGE. 


A favorite liaunt of Longfellow’s was the bridge between Boston and Cambridge, over which he had tc» 
pass, almost daily. “ I always stop on the bridge,” he writes in his journal. “Tide waters are beautiful,” and 
again, “ We leaned for a while on the wooden rails and enjoyed the silvery reflections of the sea, making 
sundry comparisons.” Among other thoughts, we have these cheering ones, that “The old sea was flash¬ 
ing with its heavenly light, though we saw it only in a single track ; the dark waves are dark provinces of 
God ; illuminous though not to us.” 

The following poem was the result of one of Longfellow’s reflections, while standing on this bridge a* 
midnight. 


stood on the bridge at midnight, 

As the clocks were striking the hour, 
And the moon rose o’er the city, 
Behind the dark church tower; 

And like the waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 

A flood of thought came o'er me, 

That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, 0 how often, 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood yn that bridge at midnight, 

And gazed on that wave and sky! 

How often, 0 how often, 

• I had wished that the ebbing tide 
Would bear me away on its bosom 
O'er the ocean wild and wide! 

For my heart was hot and restless, 

And my life was full of care, 

And the burden laid upon me. 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea; 



And oniy the sorrow of others 
Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 
Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 

And I think how many thousands 
Of care-encumbered men, 

Each having his burden of sorrow, 
Have crossed the bridge since then. 

I see the long procession 
Still passing to and fro, 

The young heart hot and restless, 

And the old, subdued and slow I 

And forever and forever, 

As long as the river flows, 

As long as the heart has passions, 

As long as life has woes; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 

And its wavering image here. 


RESIGNATION. 



HERE is no flock, however watched and 
tended, 

But one dead lamb is there! 

There is no fireside, howsoe’r defended, 
But has one vacant chair ! 

The air is full of farewells to the dying 
And mournings for the dead ; 

The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, 

"Vill not be comforted 1 


Let us he patient! These severe affliction!) 

Not from the ground arise, 

But oftentimes celestial benedictions 


Assume this dark disguise. 


We see but dimly through the mists and vapors; 

Amid these earthly damps 
What seem to us but sad, funereal tapers 
May be heaven’s distant lamps. 
















76 


HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 


There is no Death ! What seems so is transition; 
This life of mortal breath 

Is but a suburb of the life elysian, 

Whose portal we call Death. 

She is not dead,—the child of our affection,— 

But gone unto that school 

Where she no longer needs our poor protection, 
And Christ himself doth rule. 

In that great cloister’s stillnes and seclusion, 

By guardian angels led, 

Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pollution, 

She lives whom we call dead. 

Day after day we think what she is doing 
In those bright realms of air; 

Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, 

Behold her grown more fair. 

Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken 
The bond which nature gives, 

- 


Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken 
May reach her where she lives. 

Not as a child shall we again behold her; 

For when with raptures wild 

In our embraces we again enfold her, 

She will not be a child: 

But a fair maiden, in her Father’s mansion, 
Clothed with celestial grace; 

And beautiful with all the soul’s expansion 
Shall we behold her face. 

And though, at times, impetuous with emotion 
And anguish long suppressed, 

The swelling heart heaves moaning like the ocean, 
That cannot be at rest,— 

We will be patient, and assuage the feeling 
We may not wholly stay; 

By silence sanctifying, not concealing 
The grief that must have way. 


GOD’S ACRE. 


LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls 
The burial-ground God’s acre ! It is just; 

It consecrates each grave within its walls, 
And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping 
dust. 

God’s Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts 
Comfort to those who in the grave have sown 
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, 
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. 

Into its furrows shall we all be cast, 

In the sure faith that we shall rise again 



At the great harvest, when the archangel’s blast 
Shall winnow, like a fan the chaff and grain. 

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 

In the fair gardens of that second birth ; 

And each bright blossom mingle its perfume 

With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. 


With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod. 
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; 

This is the field and Acre of our God ! 

This is the place where human harvests grow! 


EXCELSIOR. 


HE shades of night were falling fast, 

As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath, 

Flashed like a falchion from its sheath, • 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior! 

In happy homes he saw the light 
Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 


Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 

And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

“ Try not to Pass !” the old man said; 

“ Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!” 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior! 

“ 0, stay,” the maiden said, “ and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast!” 

A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh, 

- Excelsior 1 













HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 


77 


“ Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch ! 
Beware the awful avalanche !” 

This was the peasant’s last Good-night; 

A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior! 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 

A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior! 


A traveler, by the faithful hound, 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There, in the twilight cold and gray, 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay, 

And from the sky, serene and far, 

A voice fell, like a hilling star, 
Excelsior! 


•♦O* 


THE RAINY DAY. 


HE day is cold, and dark and dreary; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, 
But at every gust the dead leaves fall, 

And the day is dark and dreary. 

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; 

It rains, and the wind is never weary; 

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past, 


But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast, 
And the days are dark and dreary. 

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; 
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining; 
Thy fate is the common fate of all, 

Into each life some rain must fall, 

Some days must be dark dreary. 

+o* - 



THE WRECK Oh THE 


HESPERUS. 


The writing of the following poem “The Wreck of the Hesperus,” was occasioned by the news of a 
ship-wreck on the coast near Gloucester, and by the name of a reef—“Norman’s Woe.”—where many 
disasters occurred. It was written one night between twelve and three o’clock, and cost the poet, it is 
said, hardly an effort. 


T was the schooner Hesperus 
That sailed the wintry sea ; 

And the skipper had taken his little 
daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 

Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouth, 

And watched how the veering flaw did blow 
The smoke now west, now south. 

Then up and spake an old sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish main: 

“ I pray thee put into yonder port, 

For I fear a hurricane. 



Colder and colder blew the wind, 

A gale from the north-east; 

The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like 5'east. 

Down came the storm and smote amain 
The vessel in its strength ; 

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed 
Then leaped her cable’s length. 

11 Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 
And do not tremble so, 

For I can weather the roughest gale 
That ever wind did blow.” 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman’s coat, 
Against the stinging blast; 

He cut a rope from a broken spar, 

And bound her to the mast. 


“ Last night the moon had a golden ring, 
And to-night no moon we see !” 

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 


“ Oh father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 
Oh say what may it be?” 

“ ’Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast 
And he steered for the open sea. 















HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 


7* 


“ Oh father! I hear the sound of guns, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? ” 

“ Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
In such an angry sea.” 

“ Oh, father ! I see a gleaming light, 

Oh, say, what may it be ? 

But the father answered never a word— 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face to the skies, 

The lantern gleamed, through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands, and prayed 
That saved she might be ; 

And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves 
On the lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept, 

Towards the reef of Norman’s Woe. 

And ever, the fitful gusts between, 

A sound came from the land; 

It was the sound of the trampling surf 
On the rocks and hard sea-sand. 


The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
She drifted a dreary wreck, 

And a whooping billow swept the crew 
Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
Looked soft as carded wool, 

But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 
Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 

With the masts, went by the board; 

Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank— 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared. 

At daybreak on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 

To see the form of a maiden fair 
Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 

And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, 
On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow; 

Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe. 


O 


THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 



OMEWHAT back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country seat; 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw; 
And, from its station in the hall, 

An ancient timepiece says to all, 

“ Forever—never ! 

Never—forever ” 


Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 

It calmly repeats those words of awe, 

“ Forever—never 1 
Never—forever 1” 


Half-way up the stairs it stands, 

And points and beckons with its hands v , 
From its case of massive oak, 

Like a monk who, under his cloak, 
Crosses himself, and sighs, alas ! 

With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 

“ Forever—never ! 

Never—forever!” 


In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality; 

His great fires up the chimney roared; 
The stranger feasted at his board; 

But, like the skeleton at the feast, 
That warning timepiece never ceased 
“ Forever—never ! 

Never—forever!” 


By day its voice is low and light'; 

But in the silent dead of night, 

Distinct as a passing footstep’s fall, 

It echoes along the vacant hall, 

Along the ceiling, along the floor, 

And seems to say at each chamber door, 
“ Forever—never! 

Never—forever 1” 


There groups of merry children played; 

There youths and maidens dreaming strayed * 
Oh, precious hours! oh, golden prime 
And affluence of love and time ! 

Even as a miser counts his gold, 

Those hours the ancient timepiece told,—* 

“ Forever—never! 

Never—forever 1” 










henry Wadsworth longfellow. 


79 


From that chamber, clothed in white, 

The bride came forth on her wedding night; 
There, in that silent room below, 

The dead lav, in his shroud of snow; 

And, in the hush that followed the prayer, 

Was heard the old clock on the stair,— 

“ Forever—never ! 

Never—forever!” 

All are scattered now, and fled,— 

Some are married, some are dead : 

And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 

“ Ah !” when shall they all meet again ? 


As in the days long since gone by, 

The ancient timepiece makes reply, 

“ Forever—never ! 

■Meyer—forever!” 

Never here, forever there, 

Where all parting, pain, an3 ^are 
And death, and time shall disappear,— 
Forever there, but never here ! 

The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly, 

“ Forever—never! 

Never—forever!” 


THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 


The writing of this famous ballad was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the digging up of a mail-clad 
skeleton at Fall-River, Massachusetts—a circumstance which the poet linked with the traditions about the 
Round Tower at Newport, thus giving to it the spirit of a Norse Viking song of war and of the sea. It is 
written in the swift leaping meter employed by Drayton in his “Ode to the Cambro Britons on tkek 
Harp.” 



PEAK ! speak ! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 

Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 

But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretch’d, as if asking alms, 

Why dost thou haunt me? ” 


“ Oft to his frozen lair 
Track’d I the grizzly bear, 
While from my path the hare 
Fled like a shadow ; 

Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf’s bark, 
Until the soaring lark 
Sang from the meadow. 


Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 

As when the Northern skies 
Gleam in December ; 

And, like the water’s flow 
Under December’s snow, 

Came a dull voice of woe 
From the heart’s chamber. 

“ I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told, 

No Saga taught thee ! 

Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 

Else dread a dead man’s curse! 
For this I sought thee. 


“ But when I older grew, 
Joining a corsair’s crew, 
O’er the dark sea I flew 
With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we 1yd; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled, 
By our stern orders. 

“ Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long winter out; 
Often our midnight shout 
Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk’s tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 
Fill’d to o’erflowing. 


il Far in the Northern Land, 

By the wild Baltic’s strand, 

I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the ger-falcon ; 

And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimm’d the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 
Trembled to walk on. 


u Once as T told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 

Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
Burning out tender; 

And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 
Fell their soft splendor. 









So 


HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 


“ 1 woo’d the blue eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid, 

And in the forest’s shade 
Our vows were plighted. 

Under its loosen’d vest 
Flutter’d her little breast, 

Like birds within their nest 
By the hawk frighted. 

“ Bright in her hither’s hall 
Shields gleam’d upon the wall, 

Loud sang the minstrels all, 
Chanting his glory.; 

When of old Hildebrand 
I ask’d his daughter’s hand, 

Mute did the minstrel stand 
To hear my story. 

u While the brown ale he quafl d 
Loud then the champion laugh’d, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 
The sea-foam brightly, 

So the loud laugh of scorn, 

Out of those lips unshorn, 

From the deep drinking-horn 
Blew the foam lightly. 

<l She was a Prince’s child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blush’d and smiled, 
I was discarded ! 

Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew’s flight, 

O 7 

Why did they leave that night 
Her nest unguarded ? 

o 

“ Scarce had I put to sea, 

Bearing the maid with me,— 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen !—— 

When on the white sea-strand, 
Waving his armed hand, 

Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

u Then launch’d they to the blast* 
Bent like a reed each mast, 

Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind fail’d us; 

And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 

So that our foe we saw 
Laugh as he hail’d us. 


“ And as to catch the gale 
Bound veer’d the flapping sail, 

Deat h ! was the helmsman’s haii. 
Death without quarter! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel; 

Down her black hulk did reel 
Through the black water. 

“ As with his wings aslant, 

Sails the fierce cormorant, 

Seeking some rocky haunt, 

With his prey laden, 

So toward the open main, 

Beating to sea again, 

Through the wild hurricane, 

Bore I the maiden. 

“ Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o’er, 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 
Stretching to lee-ward; 

There for my lady’s bower 
Built. I the lofty tower, 

Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking sea-ward. 

“There lived we many years; 

Time dried the maiden’s tears; 

She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother ; 

Death closed her mild blue eyes. 
Under that tower she lies: 

Ne’er shall the sun arise 
On such another! 

“ Still grew my bosom then, 

Still as a stagnant fen ! 

Hateful to me were men, 

The sun light hateful 1 
In the vast forest here, 

Clad in my warlike gear, 

Fell I upon my spear, 

0, death was grateful! 

% 

“ Thus, seam’d with many scars 
Bursting these prison bais, 

Up to its native stars 
My soul ascended ! 

There from the flowing bowi 
Deep drinks the warrior’s soul, 
Skal! to the Northland .' skal f ”* 
—Thus the tale ended 


♦Skal I is the Swedish expression for “ Your Health.” 




JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 


8 


TIIE WORSHIP OF NATURE. 


IIE ocean looketh up to heaven, 

As ’twere a living thing; 

The homage of its waves is given 
In ceaseless worshiping. 

They kneel upon the sloping sand, 

As bends the human knee, 

A beautiful and tireless band, 

The priesthood of the sea! 

They pour the glittering treasures out 
Which in the deep have birth, 

And chant their awful hymns about 
The watching hills of earth. 

The green earth sends its incense up 
From every mountain-shrine, 

From every flower and dewy cup 
That greeteth the sunshine. 

The mists are lifted from the rills, 
Like the white wing of prayer; 


They lean above the ancient hills, 

As doing homage there. 

The forest-tops are lowly cast 
O’er breezy hill and glen, 

As if a prayerful spirit pass’d 
On nature as on men. 

The clouds weep o’er the fallen world 
E’en as repentant love ; 

Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurl’d, 
They fade in light above. 

The sky is as a temple’s arch, 

The blue and wavy air 

Is glorious with the spirit-march 
Of messengers at prayer. 

The gentle moon, the kindling sun, 
The many stars are given, 

As shrines to burn earth’s incense on,, 
The altar-fires of Heaven ! 



^- 

THE BAREFOOT BOY. 


HEg LESSINGS on thee, little man, 

Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan ! 
yprjfl With thy turned up pantaloons, 
And thy merry whistled tunes • 
With thy red lip, redder still 
Kissed by strawberries on the hill; 
With the sunshine on thy face, 
Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace! 
From my heart I give thee joy; 

I was once a barefoot boy. 

Prince thou art—the grown-up man, 
Only is republican. 

Let the million-dollared ride ! 

Barefoot, trudging at his side, 

Thou hast more than he can buy, 

In the reach of ear and eye : 

Outward sunshine, inward joy, 
Blessings on the barefoot boy. 

O ! for boyhood’s painless play, 

Sleep that wakes in laughing day, 
Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, 
Knowledge never learned of schools: 
Of the wild bee’s morning chase, 

Of the wild flower’s time and place, 
Flight of fowl, and habitude 
Of the tenants of the wood •, 

How the tortoise bears his shell, 

How the woodchuck digs his cell, 

And the ground-mole sinks his well; 

How the robin feeds her young, 

6H 


How the oriole’s nest is hung; 

Where the whitest lilies blow, 

Where the freshest berries grow, 

Where the ground-nut trails its vine, 
Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine; 

Of the black wasp’s cunning way, 

Mason of his walls of clay, 

And the architectural plans 
Of gray hornet artisans ! 

For, eschewing books and tasks, 

Nature answers all he asks; 

Hand in hand with her he walks, 

Part and parcel of her joy, 

Blessings on the barefoot boy. 

0 for boyhood’s time of June, 

Crowding years in one brief moon, 

When all things I heard or saw, 

Me, their master, waited for! 

I was rich in flowers and trees, 
Humming-birds and honey-bees; 

For my sport the squirrel played, 

Plied the snouted mole his sp*de; 

For my taste the blackberry cone 
Purpled over hedge and stone *, 

Laughed the brook for my delight, 
Through the day, and through *he nighfc; 
Whispering at the garden wall. 

Talked with me from fall to fall , 

Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, 
Mine the walnut slopes beyond, 












John greenleaf whether. 


ft 2 


Mine, on bending orchard trees, 
Apples of Hesperides! 

Still, as my horizon grew, 

Larger grew my riches too, 

All the world I saw or knew 
Seemed a complex Chinese toy, 
Fashioned for a barefoot boy! 

0, for festal dainties spread, 

Like my bowl of milk and bread, 
Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, 

On the door-stone, gray and rude! 
O’er me like a regal tent, 

Cloudy ribbed, the sunset bent, 
Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, 
Looped in many a wind-swung fold; 
While for music came the play 
Of the pied frogs’ orchestra; 

And, to light the noisy choir, 

Lit the fly his lamp of fire. 

I was monarch ; pomp and joy 


Waited on the barefoot boy! 

Cheerily, then, my little man ! 

Live and laugh as boyhood can ; 
Though the flinty slopes be hard. 
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, 
Every morn shall lead thee through 
Fresh baptisms of the dew ; 

Every evening from thy feet 
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat; 

All too soon these feet must hide 
In the prison cells of pride, 

Lose the freedom of the sod, 

Like a colt’s for work be shod, 

Made to tread the mills of toil, 

Up and down in ceaseless moil, 

Happy if their track be found 
Never on forbidden ground ; 

Happy if they sink not in 
Quick and treacherous sands of sin. 
Ah ! that thou couldst know thy joy, 
Ere it passes, barefoot boy! 

■•O* - 



MAUD 

AUD MULLER, on a summers day, 
Raked the meadow sweet with hay. 

Beneath her torn hat glowed the wealth 
Of simple beauty and rustic health. 


Singing, she wrought, and her merry glee 
The mock-bird echoed from his tree. 

But, when she glanced to the far off. town. 
White from its hill-slope looking down, 

The sweet song died, and a vague unrest 
And a nameless longing filled her breast— 


MULLER. 

He spoke of the grass and flowers and trees, 

Of the singing birds and the humming bees; 

Then talked of the haying, and wondered whetlie? 
The cloud in the west would bring foul weather. 

And Maud forgot her briar-torn gown, 

And her graceful ankles bare and brown; 

And listened, while a pleased surprise 
Looked from her long-laslied hazel eyes. 

At last, like one who for delay 
Seeks a vain excuse, he rode away. 


A wish, that she hardly dared to own, 

For something better than she had known. 

The Judge rode slowly down the lane, 
Smoothing his horse’s chestnut mane. 

He drew his bridle in the shade 
Of the apple-trees, to greet the maid. 


Maud Muller looked and sighed: “ Ah me! 
That I the Judge’s bride might be! 

“ He would dress me up in silks so fine, 

And praise and toast me at his wine. 

“ My father should wear a broadcloth coat; 
My brother should sail a painted boat. 


And ask a draught from the spring that flowed 
Through the meadow across the road. 

She stooped where the cool spring bubbled up, 
And filled for him her small tin cup, 


“ I’d dress my mother so grand and gay, 

And the baby should have a new toy each day. 

“ And I’d feed the hungry and clothe the poor, 
And all should bless me who left our door.” 


And blushed as she gave it, looking down 
On her feet so bare, and her tattered gown. 

“ Thanks ! ” said the Judge, “ a sweeter draught 
From a fairer hand was never quaffed.” 


The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, 
And saw Maud Muller standing still. 

“ A form more fair, a face more sweet, 

Ne’er hath it been my lot to meet 









JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 


83 


“ And her modest answer and graceful air 
Show her wise and good as she is fair. 

“ Would she were mine, and I to-day, 

Like her, a harvester of hay: 

“ No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues, 

“ But low of cattle, and song of birds, 

And health, and quiet, and loving words.” 

But he thought of his sisters, proud and cold, 
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold. 

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on, 

And Maud was left in the field alone. _ 

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon, 

When he hummed in court an old love-tune; 

And the young girl mused beside the well, 

Till the rain on the unraked clover fell. 

He wedded a wife of richest dower, 

Who lived for fashion, as he for power. 

Yet oft, in his marble hearth’s bright glow, 
lie watched a picture come and go; 

And sweet Maud Muller’s hazel eyes 
Looked out in their innocent surprise. 

Oft when the wine in his glass was red, 

He longed for the wayside well instead; 

And closed his eyes on his garnished room3, 

To dream of meadows and clover-blooms. 

And the proud man sighed, with a secret pain, 
“ Ah, that I were free again ! 

“ Free as when I rode that day, 

Where the barefoot maiden raked her hay.” 

She wedded a man unlearned and poor, 

And many children played round her door. 


But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain, 

Left their traces on heart and brain. 

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot 
On the new mown hay in the meadow lot, 

And she heard the little spring brook fab 
Over the roadside, through the wall, 

In the shade of the apple-tree again 
She saw a rider draw his rein, 

And gazing down with timid grace, 

She felt his pleased eyes read her face. 

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls 
Stretched away into stately halls; 

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned, 

The tallow candle an astral burned; 

And for him who sat by the chimney lug, 

Dozing and grumbling o’er pipe and mug, 

A manly form at her side she saw, 

And joy was duty and love was law. 

Then she took up her burden of life again, 
Saying only, “ It might have been.” 

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge, 

For rich repiner and household drudge! 

God pity them both ! and pity us all, 

Who vainly the dreams of youth recall; 

9 

For of all sad words of tongue or pen, 

The saddest are these: “ It might have been I ” 

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies 
Deeply buried from human eyes; 

And, in the hereafter, angels may 
Roll the stone from its grave away! 


40 ^ 


MEMORIES. 



BEAUTIFUL and happy girl 

With step as soft as summer air, 
And fresh young lip and brow of pearl 
Shadow’d by many a careless curl 
Of unconfined and flowing hair: 


A seeming child in every thing 

Save thoughtful brow, and ripening 
charms, 

As nature wears the smile of spring 
When sinking into summer’s arms. 










JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 


34 

A mind rejoicing in the light 

Which melted through its graceful bower, 
Leaf after leaf serenely bright 
And stainless in its holy white 
Unfolding like a morning flower: 

A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute 
With every breath of feeling woke, 

And, even when the tongue was mute, 

From eye and lip in music spoke. 

How thrills once more the lengthening chain 
Of memory at the thought of thee !— 

Old hopes which long in dust have lain, 

Old dreams come thronging back again, 

And boyhood lives again in me; 

I feel its glow upon my cheek, 

Its fulness of the heart is mine, 

As when I lean’d to hear thee speak, 

Or raised my doubtful eye to thine. 

1 hear again thy low replies, 

I feel thy arm within my own, 

And timidly again uprise 
The fringed lids of hazel eyes 

With soft brown tresses overblown. 

Ah ! memories of sweet summer eves, 

Of moonlit wave and willowy way, 

Of stars and flowers and dewy leaves, 

And smiles and tones more dear than they! 

Ere this thy quiet eye hath smiled 
My picture of thy youth to see, 

When half a woman, half a child, 

Thy very artlessness beguiled, 

And folly’s self seem’d wise in thee. 

I too can smile, when o’er that hour 
The lights of memory backward stream, 
Yet feel the while that manhood’s power 
Is vainer than my boyhood’s dream. 


Years have pass’d on, and left their trace 
Of graver care and deeper thought; 
And unto me the calm, cold face 
Of manhood, and to thee the grace 
Of woman’s pensive beauty brought, 

On life’s rough blasts for blame or praise 
The schoolboy’s name has widely flown; 
Thine in the green and quiet ways 
Of unobtrusive goodness known. 

And wider yet in thought and deed 
Our still diverging thoughts incline, 
Thine the Genevan’s sternest creed, 

While answers to my spirit’s need 
The Yorkshire peasant’s simple line. 

For thee the priestly rite and prayer, 

And holy day and solemn psalm, 

For me the silent reverence where 
My brethren gather, slow and calm. 

Yet hath thy spirit left on me 

An impress time has not worn out, 

And something of myself in thee, 

A shadow from the past, I see 

Lingering even yet thy way about; 

Not wholly can the heart unlearn 
That lesson of its better hours, 

Not yet has Time’s dull footstep worn 
To common dust that path of flowers. 

Thus, while at times before our eye 
The clouds about the present part, 

And, smiling through them, round us lie 
Soft hues of memory’s morning sky— 

The Indian summer of the heart, 

In secret sympathies of mind, 

In founts of feeling which retain 
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find 
Our early dreams not wholly vain ! 


-♦O*- 


THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. 


OOK on him—through his dungeon-grate, 
Feebly and cold, the morning light 
Comes stealing round him, dim and late, 
As if it loathed the sight. 

Reclining on his strawy bed, 

His hand upholds his drooping head— 

His bloodless cheek is seam’d and hard, 
Unshorn his gray, neglected beard ; 

And o’er his bony fingers flow 
His long, dishevell’d locks of snow. 

No grateful fire before him glows,— 

And yet the winter’s breath is chill: 


And o’er his half-clad person goes 
The frequent ague-thrill! 

Silent—save ever and anon, 

A sound, half-murmur and half-groan, 
Forces apart the painful grip 
Of the old sufferer’s bearded Bp: 

0, sad and crushing is the fate 
Of old age chain’d and desolate ! 

Just God ! why lies that old man there? 

A murderer shares his prison-bed, 
Whose eyeballs, through his horrid hair, 
Gleam on him fierce and red; 










JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 


35 


And the rude oath and heartless jeer 
Fall ever on his loathing ear, 

And, or in wakefulness or sleep 
Nerve, flesh, and tibre thrill and creep, 
Whene’er that ruffian’s tossing limb, 
Crimson’d with murder, touches him ! 

What has the gray-hair’d prisoner done ? 

Has murder stain’d his hands with gore? 
Not so : his crime’s a fouler one : 

God made the old man poor ! 

For this he shares a felon’s cell— 

The fittest earthly type of hell! 

For this—the boon for which he pour’d 
His young blood on the invader’s sword, 
And counted light the fearful cost—■ 

His blood-gain’d liberty is lost! 

And so, for such a place of rest, 

Old prisoner, pour’d thy blood as rain 
On Concord’s field, and Bunker’s crest, 
And Saratoga’s plain? 

Look forth, thou man of many scars, 
Through thy dim dungeon’s iron bars ! 

It must be joy, in sooth, to see 
Yon monument uprear’d to thee— 

Piled granite and a prison cell— 

The land repays thy service well! 

Go, ring the bells and fire the guns, 

And fling the starry banner out; 


Shout u Freedom!” till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle-shout: 

Let boasted eloquence declaim 
Of honor, liberty, and fame ; 

Still let the poet’s strain be heard, 

With “ glory ” for each second word, 

And everything with breath agree 
To praise, u our glorious liberty !” . 

And when the patriot cannon jars 
That prison’s cold and gloomy wall, 

And through its grates the stripes and stars 
Rise on the wind, and fall— 

Think ye that prisoner’s aged ear 
Rejoices in the general cheer! 

Think ye his dim and failing eye 
Is kindled at your pageantry ? 

Sorrowing of soul, and chain’d of limb, 
What is your carnival to him ? 

Down with the law that binds him thus I 
Unworthy freemen, let it find 
No refuge from the withering curse 
Of God and human kind ! 

Open the prisoner’s living tomb, 

And usher from its brooding gloom 
The victims of your savage code, 

To the free sun and air of God ! 

No longer dare as crime to brand, 

The chastening of the Almighty’s hand ! 


♦o 


THE STORM. 

FROM “ SNOW-BOUND.” 

Snow-bound is regarded as Whittier’s master-piece, as a descriptive and reminiscent poem. It is a New 
England Fireside Idyl, -which in its faithfulness recalls, “The Winter Evening,” of Cowper, and Burns” 
“Cotter’s Saturday Night” ; but in sweetness and animation, it is superior to either of these. Snow-bound 
is a faithful description of a winter scene, familiar in the country surrounding Whittier’s home in Connect* 
icut. The complete poem is published in illustrated form by Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co., by whose per- 
misssion this extract is here inserted. 



NWARNED by any sunset light 
The gray day darkened into night, 

A night made hoary with the swarm 
And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, 

As zigzag wavering to and fro 

Crossed and recrossed the winged snow; 

And ere the early bedtime came 

The white drift piled the window-frame, 

And through the glass the clothes-line posts 

Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts. 


So all night long the storm roared on: 
The morning broke without a sun • 

In tiny spherule traced with hues 


Of Nature’s geometric signs, 

In starry flake, and pellicle, 

All day the hoary meteor fell; 

And, when the second morning shone, 

We looked upon a world unknown, 

On nothing we could call our own. 

Around the glistening wonder bent 
The blue walls of the firmament, 

No cloud above, no earth below,— 

A universe of sky and snow! 

The old familiar sight of ours 

Took marvelous shapes; strange domes and towers 

Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, 

Or garden wall, or belt of wood; 














86 


JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 


A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, 
A fenceless drift what once was road ; 

The bridle-post an old man sat 

With loose-flung coat and high cocked hat; 

The well-curb had a Chinese roof; 

And even the long sweep, high aloof, 

In its slant splendor, seemed to tell 
Of Pisa’s leaning miracle. 

A prompt, decisive man, no breath 
Our father wasted : “ Boys, a path ! ” 

"Well pleased, (for when did farmer boy 


Count such a summons less than joy?) 
Our buskins on our feet we drew; 

With mittened hands, and caps drawn low, 
To guard our necks and ears from snow, 
We cut the solid whiteness through, 

And, where the drift was deepest, made 
A tunnel walled and overlaid 
With dazzling crystal: w r e had read 
Of rare Aladdin’s wondrous cave, 

And to our own his name we gave, 

With many a wish the luck were ourc 
To test his lamp’s supernal powers. 


ICHABOD. 


The following poem was written on hearing of Daniel Wel>ster’s course in supporting the “Compromise 
Measure,” including the “Fugitive Slave Law”. This speed) was delivered in the United States Senate 
on the 7th of March, 1850, and greatly incensed the Abolitionists. Mr. Whittier, in common with many 
New Englanders, regarded it as the certain downfall of Mr. Webster. The lines are full of tender regret, 
deep grief and touching pathos, 


0 fallen ! so lost! the light withdrawn 
Which once he wore ! 

The glory from his gray hairs gone 
For evermore! 

Bevile him not,—the Tempter hath 
A snare for all! 

And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, 
Befit his fall. 

Oh ! dumb be passiqn’s stormy rage, 
When he who might 

Have lighted up and led his age 
Falls back in night. 

Scorn ! would the angels laugh to mark 
A bright soul driven, 

Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, 
From hope and heaven? 

Let not the land, once proud of him, 
Insult him now, 



Nor brand with deeper shame his dim 
Dishonor’d brow. 

But let its humbled sons, instead, 

From sea to lake, 

A long lament, as for the dead, 

In sadness make. 

Of all we loved and honor’d, nought 
Save power remains,— 

A fallen angel’s pride of thought 
Still strong in chains. 

All else is gone; from those great eyes 
The soul has fled : 

When faith is lost, when honor dies, 
The man is dead ! 

Then pay the reverence of old days 
To his dead fame; 

Walk backward with averted gaze, 

And hide the shame 1 










ALFRED TENNYSON. 


87 


PRELUDE TO “IN MEMORIAM.” 



TRONG Son of God, immortal Love, 
Whom we, that have not seen thy face, 
By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 
Believing where we can not prove ; 


Thine are these orbs of light and shade; 
Thou madest life, man and brute; 
Thou madest death ; and lo, thy foot 
Is on the skull which thou hast made. 


Thou wilt not leave us in the dust; 

Thou madest man, he knows not why; 
He thinks he was not made to die ; 
And thou hast made him : thou art just. 

Thou seemest human and divine, 

The highest, holiest manhood thou : 
Our wills are ours, we know not how; 
Our wills are ours to make them thine. 


Our little systems have their day; 

They have their day and cease to be: 
They are but broken lights of thee, 
And thou, O Lord, art more than they, 

We have but faith : we can not know; 
For knowledge is of things we see; 


And yet we trust it comes from thee, 

A beam in darkness: let it grow. 

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
But more of reverence in us dwell, 
That mind and soul, according well, 
May make one music as before, 

But vaster. We are fools and slight; 

We mock thee, when we do not fear ; 
But help thy foolish ones to bear; 
Help thy vain world to bear thy light. 

Forgive what seem’d my sin in me; 

What seemed my worth since I began ; 
For merit lives from man to man, 

And not from man, O Lord, to thee. 

Forgive my grief for one removed, 

Thy creature, whom I found so fair. 

I trust he lives in thee, and there 
I find him worthier to be loved. 

Forgive these wild and wandering cries, 
Confusions of a wasted youth ; 

Forgive them where they fail in truth, 
And in thy wisdom make me wise. 


•o^>o» 


RING OUT, WILD BELLS. 
“ In Memoriam.” 


ING out, wild bells, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light; 
The year is dying in the night; 
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 



Ring out the want, the care, the sin. 

The faithless coldness of the time; 

Ring out, ring out, my mournful rhymes. 
But ring the fuller minstrel in. 


Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more; 
Ring out the feud of rich and poor, 
Ring in redress to all mankind. 


Ring out false pride in place and blood. 
The civic slander and the spite, 

Ring in the love of truth and right, 
Ring in the common love of good. 

Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old, 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 


Ring out a slowly dying cause, 

And ancient forms of party strife; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
With sweeter manners, purer laws. 


Ring in the valiant man and free, 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ;. 
Ring out the darkness of the land. 
Ring in the Christ that is to be. 













88 


ALFRED TENNYSON. 


THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 


N either side the river lie 

Long fields of barley and of rye, 

That clothe the world and meet the sky; 
And thro’ the field the road runs by 
To many-towered Camolet; 

And up and down the people go, 

Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below, 

The island of Shalott. 

Only reapers, reaping early 
In among the bearded barley, 

Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
From the river winding clearly 

Down to tower’d Camelot; 



“ Out flew the web and floated wide; 
The mirror crack’d from side to side.” 


And by the moon the reaper weary, 
Piling sheaves in uplands airy, 
Listening, whispers, “ ’Tis the fairy 
Lady of Shalott.” 


There she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colors gay. 

She has heard a whisper say, 

A curse is on her if she stay 

To look down to Camelot. 


She knows not what the curse may be, 
And so she weaveth steadily, 

And little other care hath she, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

• ••••••« 

» 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, 

An abbot on an ambling pad, 

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 

Or long-hair’d page in crimson clad, 

Goes by to tower’d Camelot; 

And sometimes thro’ the mirror blue 
The knights come riding two and two j 
She hath no royal knight and true, 

The Lady of Shalott. 

• ••••••• 

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 

He rode between the barley sheaves, 

The sun came dazzling through the leaves 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 
Of bold Sir Lancelot. 

A redcross knight forever kneeled 
To a lady in his shield, 

That sparkled on the yellow field, 

Beside remote Shalott. 

•••••£ 

His broad, clear brow in sunlight glow’d ; 
On burnish’d hooves his war-horse trode ; 
From underneath his helmet flow’d 
His coal-black curls as on he rode, 

As he rode down to Camelot. 

From the bank and from the river 
He flashed into the crystal mirror, 

“ Tirra lirra,” by the river 
Sang Sir Lancelot. 

She left the web, she left the loom, 

She made three paces thro’ the room. 

She saw the water-lily bloom, 

She saw the helmet and the plume, 

She look’d down to Camelot. 

Out flew the web and floated wide; 

The mirror crack’d from side to side; 
“The curse is come upon me,” cried 
The Lady of Shalott. 

In the stormy east-wind straining, 

The pale yellow woods are waning. 

The broad stream in his banks complainin; 
Heavily the low sky raining 

Over tower’d Camelot; 



























ALFRED TENNYSON. 


Down she came and found a boat 
Beneath a willow left afloat. 

And round about the prow she wrote 
The Lady of Shalott. 

- 

Under tower and balcony, 

By garden-wall and gallery, 

A gleaming shape she floated by, 

A corse between the houses high, 
Silent into Camelot. 

Out upon the wharves they came, 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 


And round the prow they read her name. 
The Lady of Shalott. 

Who is this? and what is here? 

And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer: 

And they cross’d themselves for fear. 

All the knights of Camelot: 

But Lancelot mused a little space: 

He said, “ She has a lovely face : 

God in his mercy lend her grace, 

The Lady of Shalott.” 


-»o^o»- -— 


SWEET AND LOW, 


j|ggj|WEET and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea, 

Low, low, breathe and blow, 

Wind or the western sea ! 

Over the rolling waters go, 

Come from the dying moon, and blow, 

Blow him again to me, 

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. 


A Lullaby. 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, 

Father will come to thee soon ; 

Rest, rest, on mother’s breast, 

Father will come to thee soon ; 

Father will come to his babe in the nest, 

Silver sails all out of the west 
Under the silver moon ; 

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 


•o^o- 


THE HERE AND THE HEREAFTER. 

“In Memoriam.” 


YET we trust that somehow good 
Will be the Anal goal of ill, 

To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; 

That nothing walks with aimless feet, 
That not one life shall be destroy’d, 

Or cast as rubbish to the void, 

When God hath made the pile complete ; 

That not a worm is cloven in vain ; 

That not a modi with vain desire 
Is shrivell’d in a fruitless fire, 

Or but subserves another’s gain. 

Behold, we know not anything, 

I can but trust that good shall fall 
At last—far off—at last to all, 

And every Winter change to Spring. 

So runs my dream : but what am I ? 

An infant crying in the night; 

An infant crying for the light, 

And with no language but a cry. 


The wish that of the living whole 
No life may fail beyond the grave, 
Derives it not from what we have 
The likest God within the soul? 

Are God and Nature then at strife? 

That Nature tends such evil dreams? 
So careful of the type she seems, 

So careless of the single life; 

That I considering everywhere 
Her secret meaning in her deeds, 

And finding that of fifty seeds 
She often brings but one to bear, 

I falter where I firmly trod, 

And falling with my weight of cares 
Upon the great world’s altar-stairs 
That slope through darkness up to God, 

I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope 
And gather dust and chaff, and call 
To what I feel is Lord of all, 

And faintly trust the larger hope. 












9 o 


EDGAK ALLEN POE. 


LENORE. 


Mrs. Whitman, in her reminiscences of Poe, tells us the following incident which gave rise to the writing 
of these touching lines. While Poe was in the Academy at Richmond, Virginia,—as yet a boy of about 
sixteen years,—he was invited by a friend to visit his home. The mother of this friend was a singularly 
beautiful and withal a most kindly and sympathetic woman. Having learned that Poe was an orphan she 
greeted him with the motherly tenderness and affection shown toward her own son. The boy was so over¬ 
come that it is said he stood for a miuute unable to speak and finally with tears he declared he had never 
before known his loss in the love of a true and devoted mother. From that time forward he was frequently 
a visitor, and the attachment between him and this kind-hearted woman continued to grow. On Poe’s 
return from Europe when he was about twenty years of age, he learned that she had died a few days before 
his arrival, and was so overcome with grief that he went nightly to her grave, even when it was dark and 
rainy, spending hours in fancied communion with her spirit. Later he idealized in his musings the embodi¬ 
ment of such a spirit in a young and beautiful woman, whom he made his lover and whose untimely death 
he imagined and used as the inspiration of this poem. 


H, broken is the golden bowl, 

The spirit flown forever ! 

Let the bell toll! 

A saintly soul 
Floats on the Stygian river; 

And, Guy de Vere, 

Hast thou no tear ? 

Weep now or never more! 

See, on yon drear 
And rigid bier 

Low lies thy love, Lenore ! 

Come, let the burial-rite be read— 

The funeral-song be sung !— 

An anthem for the queenliest dead 
That ever died so young— 

A dirge for her the doubly dead, 

In that she died so young ! 

“ Wretches ! ye loved her for her wealth, 

And hated her for her pride ; 

And when she fell in feeble health, 

Ye bless’d her—that she died ! 

How shall the ritual, then, be read? 

The requiem how be sung 
By you—by yours, the evil eye— 

By yours the slanderous tongue 
That did to death the innocence 
That died, and died so young ? ” 

Peccavimus ; 

But rave not thus ! 

And let a sabbath song 

Go up to God so solemnly, the dead may feel no 
wrong! 



The sweet Lenore 
Hath “ gone before,” 

With Hope, that flew beside, 
Leaving thee wild 
For the dear child 

That should have been thy bride— 
For her, the fair 
And debonair , 

That now so lowly lies, 

The life upon her yellow hair 
But not within her eyes— 

The life still there, 

Upon her hair— 

The death upon her eyes. 

“ Avaunt! to-night 
My heart is light. 

No dirge will I upraise, 

But waft the angel on her flight 
With a psean of old days ! 

Let no bell toll!— 

Lest her sweet soul, 

Amid its hallow’d mirth, 

Should catch the note,. 

As it doth float— 

Up from the damned earth. 

To friends above, from fiends below, 
The indignant ghost is riven— 
From hell unto a high estate 
Far up within the heaven— 

From grief and groan, 

To a golden throne. 

Beside the King of Heaven.” 


K>*- 


THE BELLS. 


This selection is a favorite with reciters. It is an excellent piece for voice culture. The musical flow of 
the metre and happy selection of the words make it possible for the skilled speaker to closely imitate tha 
sounds of the ringing bells. J 


GWjJi 

EAR the sledges with the bells— 


Silver bells! 

W4 

What a world of merriment their melody 


foretells 1 


How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night! 

While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens, seem to twinkle 















EDGAR ALLEN POE. 


9 1 


With a crystalline delight; 

Keeping time, time, time, 

In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells 
From the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells— 

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. 

Hear the mellow wedding bells— 

Golden bells! 

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells ! 
Through the balmy air of night 
How they ring out their delight! 

From the molten-golden notes, 

And all in tune, 

What a liquid ditty floats 
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats 
On the moon ! 

Oh, from out the sounding cells, 

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! 

How it swells ! 

How it dwells. 

On the future! how it tells 
Of the rapture that impels 
To the swinging and the ringing 
Of the bells, bells, bells,— 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells— 

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! 

Hear the loud alarum bells— 

Brazen bells! 

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells 
In the startled ear of night 
How they scream out their affright! 

Too much horrifled to speak, 

They can only shriek, shriek, 

Out of tune, 

In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, 

In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic tire 
Leaping higher, higher, higher, 

With a desperate desire, 

And a resolute endeavor, 

Now—now to sit or never, . . 

By the side of the pale-faced moon. 

Oh, the bells, bells, bells ! 

What a tale their terror tells 
Of despair! 

How they clang, and clash, and roar ! 

What a horror they outpour 
On the bosom of the palpitating air! 

Yet the ear it fully knows, 

By the twanging, 

And the clanging, 

How the danger ebbs and flows j 


Yet the ear distinctly tells, 

In the jangling 
And the wrangling, 

How the danger sinks and swells, 

By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the 

bells— 

Of the bells— 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 

Bells, bells, bells— 

In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! 

Hear the tolling of the bells— 

Iron bells! 

What a world of solemn thought their monody 

compels! 

In the silence of the night, 

How we shiver with affright, 

At the melancholy menace of their tone 1 
For every sound that floats 
From the rust within their throats 
Is a groan. 

And the people—ah, the people— 

They that dwell up in the steeple, 

All alone, 

And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 

In that muffled monotone, 

Feel a glory in so rolling 
On the human heart a stone— 

They are neither man nor woman— 

They are neither brute nor human— 

They are ghouls: 

And their king it is who tolls; 

And he rolls,rolls, rolls, rolls, 

A paean from the bells! 

And his merry bosom swells 
With the paean of ,the bells! 

And he dances and he yells; 

Keeping time, time, time, 

In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the paean of the bells— 

Of the bells; 

Keeping time, time, time, 

In a sort of Runic rhyme, 

To the throbbing of the bells—• 

Of the bells, bells, bells, 

To the sobbing of the bells; 

Keeping time, time, time. 

As he knells, knells, knells, 

In a happy Runic rhyme, 

To the rolling of the bells,— 

Of the bells, bells, bells,— 

To the tolling of the bells, 

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,— 

Bells, bells, bells,— 

To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. 




9 2 


EDGAR ALLEN POE 


TI1E RAVEN. 

This poem is generally allowed to be one of the most remarkable examples of a harmony of sentiment 
with rhythmical expression to be found in any language. While the poet sits musing in his study, endeavor¬ 
ing to win from books “surcease of sorrow for the lost Lenore,” a raven—the symbol of despair—enters 
the room and perches upon a bust of Pallas. A colloquy follows between the poet and the bird of ill omeq 
with its hauuting croak of “Nevermore.’’ 



THE RAVEN. 


NCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pon¬ 
dered, weak and weary, 

Over many a quaint and curious volume 
of forgotton lore,— 

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly 
there came a tapping. 

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at 
my chamber-door. 

“ ’Tis some visitor,'’ I mutter’d, “ tapping 
at my chamber-door— 

Only this and nothing more.” 

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak De¬ 
cember, 



And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost 
upon the floor. , 

Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought 
to borrow 

From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the 
lost Lenore,— 

For the rare and raidant maiden whom the angels 
name Lenore,— 

Nameless here forevermore. 

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple 
curtain, 

Thrilled me,—filled me with fantastic terrors never 
felt before t 



























































































EDGAR ALLEN POE. 


So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood 
repeating, 

tc Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
door,— 

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber- 
door ; 

That it is, and nothing more.” 

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no 
longer, 

“Sir,” said I, “ or Madam, truly your forgiveness I 
implore; 

But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you 
came rapping, 

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my 
chamber-door, 

That I scarce was sure I heard you ”—here I opened 
wide the door: 

Darkness there, and nothing more. 

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, 
wondering, fearing, 

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to 
dream before ; 

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave 
no token, 

And the only word there spoken was the whispered 
word, “ Lenore ! ” 

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the 
word, “ Lenore ! ” 

Merely this, and nothing more. 

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within 
me burning, 

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than 
before. 

“ Surely,” said I, “ surely that is something at my 
window-lattice; 

Let me see then what thereat is and this mystery 
explore,— 

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery 
explore ;— 

’Tis the wind, and nothing more.” 

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a 
flirt and flutter, 

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days 
of yore. 

Not the least obeisance made ne; not a minute 
stopped or stayed he; 

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my 
chamber-door,— 

Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my cham 
ber-door—- 

Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 

Then this ebon bird beguiling my sad fancy into 
smiling, 


yo 

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance 
it wore, 

“ Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” 1 
said, “ art sure no craven ; 

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the 
nightly shore. 

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night’s Plu¬ 
tonian shore ? ” 

Quoth the raven, “Nevermore 1 ” 

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse 
so plainly, 

Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy 
bore; 

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human 
being 

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his 
chamber-door, 

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his 
chamber-door 

With such name as “ Nevermore ! ” 

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke 
only 

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did 
outpour. 

Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then 
he fluttered— 

Till I scarcely more than muttered, “ Other friends 
have flown before, 

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have 
flown before. 

Then the bird said, “ Nevermore ! ” 

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly 
spoken, 

“ Doubtless,” said I, “ what it utters is its only stocji 
and store, 

Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful 
disaster 

Follow’d fast and follow’d faster, till his songs one 
burden bore, 

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden 
bore, 

Of—‘ Never—nevermore ! ’ ” 

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into 
smiling, 

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird 
and bust and door, 

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself tc 
linking 

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird 
of yore— 

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omi 
nous bird of yore 

Meant in croaking “ Nevermore 1 ” 



94 


EDGAR ALLEN POE. 


This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable ex¬ 
pressing 

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my 
bosom’s core, 

This and more 1 sat divining, with my head at ease 
reclining 

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light 
gloated o’er, 

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light 
gloating o’er 

She shall press—ah ! nevermore ! 


“ Prophet! ” cried 1,“ thing of evil!—prophet still, if 
bird or devil! 

By that heaven that bends above us, by that God we 
both adore, 

Tell this soul, with sorrow laden, if within the distant 
Aidenn, 

It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels 
name Lenore; 

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom (he angels 
name Lenore ! ” 

Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore ! ” 


Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from 
an unseen censer 

Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the 
tufted floor, 

“Wretch,” I cried, “ thy God hath lent thee,—by 
these angels he hath sent thee 

Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of 
Lenore! 

Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the 
lost Lenore! ” 

Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore ! ” 


“ Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend ! ” I 
shrieked, upstarting,— 

“Get thee back into the tempest and the night’s 
Plutonian shore! 

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul 
hath spoken ! 

Leave my loneliness unbroken !—quit the bust above 
my door! 

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form 
from off my door ! ” 

Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore ! ” 


Prophet! ” cried I, “ thing of evil!—prophet still, if 
bird or devil! 

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed 
thee here ashore, 

Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en¬ 
chanted— 

On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I 
implore,— 

Is there—is there balm in Gilead ?—tell me—tell 
me, I implore ! ” 

Quoth the raven, “ Nevermore 1 ” 


And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is 
sitting 

On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber- 
door; 

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that 
is dreaming, 

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his 
shadow on the floor; 

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating 
on the floor 

Shall be lifted—nevermore 1 






OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 


95 


BILL AND JOE. 


OME, dear old comrade, you and I 

Will steal an hour from days gone by— 
The shining days \ v hen life was new, 
And all was bright as morning dew, 

The lusty days of long ago, 

When you were Bill and I was Joe. 

Your name may flaunt a titled trail, 

Proud as a cockerel’s rainbow tail: 

And mine as brief appendix wear 
As Tam O’Shanter’s luckless mare ; 

To-day, old friend, remember still • 

That I am Joe and you are Bill. 

You’ve won the great world’s envied prize, 

And grand yo” look in people’s eyes, 

With HON. an . LL.D., 

In big brave letters, a air to see— 

Your fist, old fe”. jw ! off they go !— 

How are you, Bill ? How are you, Joe ? 

You’ve worn the judge’s ermined robe; 

You’ve taught your name to half the globe; 
You’ve sung mankind a deathless strain ; 

You’ve made the dead past live again ; 

The world may call you what it will, 

But you and I are Joe and Bill. 

The chaffing young folks stare and say, 

“ See those old buffers, bent and gray; 

They talk like fellows in their teens ! 

Mad, poor old boys! That’s what it means”— 
And shake their heads; they little know 
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe— 



How Bill forgets his hour of pride, 

While Joe sits smiling at his side ; 

How Joe, in spite of time’s disguise, 

Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes— 
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill 
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill. 

Ah, pensive scholar ! what is fame ? 

A fitful tongue of leaping flame; 

A giddy whirlwind’s fickle gust, 

That lifts a pinch of mortal dust; 

A few swift years, and who can show 
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe? 

The weary idol takes his stand, 

Holds out his bruised and aching hand, 
While gaping thousands come and go— 
How vain it seems, this empty show — 

Till all at once his pulses thrill: 

’Tis poor old Joe’s “ God bless you, Bill!” 

And shall we breathe in happier spheres 
The names that pleased our mortal ears,— 
In some sweet lull of harp and song, 

For earth-born spirits none to ong, 

Just whispering of the world below. 

Where this was Bill, and that was Joe? 

No matter; while our home is here 
No sounding name is half so dear ; 

When fades at length our lingering day, 
Who cares what pompous tombstones say? 
Bead on the hearts that love us still 
Hie jacet Joe. Hie jacet Bill. 


UNION AND LIBERTY. 



LAG of the heroes who left us their glory, 
Borne through their battle-fields’ thun¬ 
der and flame, 

Blazoned in song and illuminated in story, 


Wave o’er us all who inherit their fame. 

Up with our banner bright, 

Sprinkled with starry light, 

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 
While t rough the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation’s cry— 

Union and Liberty ! One Evermore ! 


Light of our firmament, guide of our Nation, 
Pride of her children, and honored afar, 

Let the wide beams of thy full constellation 
Scatter each cloud that would darken a star ! 
Empire unsceptred ! What foe shall assail thee 
Bearing the standard of Liberty’s van ? 


Think not the God of thy fathers shall fail thee, 
Striving with men for the birthright of man ! 

Yet if, by madness and treachery blighted. 

Dawns the dark hour when the sword thou must 
draw, 

Then with the arms to thy million united. 

Smite the bold traitors to Freedom and Law! 

Lord of the universe ! shield us and guide us, 

Trusting Thee always, through shadow and sun ! 
Thou hast united us, who shall divide us? 

Keep us, 0 keep us the Many in OrE! 

Up with our banner bright, 

Sprinkled with starry light, 

Spread its fair emblems from mountain to shore, 
While through the sounding sky 
Loud rings the Nation's cry— 

Union and Liberty 1 One Evermore! 














9 6 


OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 


OLD IRON SIDES. 

The following poem has become a National Lyric. It was first printed in the “Boston Daily Advertiser,'* 
when the Frigate “Constitution” lay in the navy-yard at Charlestown. The department had resolved 
upon breaking her up; but sue was preserved from this fate by the following verses, which ran through the 
newspapers with universal applause; and, according to “Benjamin’s American Monthly Magazine,” ot 
January, 1817, it was printed in the form of hand-bills, and circulated in the city of Washington . 



Y, tear her tatter’d ensign down ! 

Long has it waved on high, 

And many an eye has danced to see 
That banner in the sky; 

Beneath it rung the battle-shout, 

And burst the cannon’s roar ; 

The meteor of the ocean air 

Shall sweep the clouds no more! 


Her deck, once red with heroes’ blood, 
Where knelt the vanquish’d foe, 

When winds were hurrying o’er the flood, 
And waves were white below, 


No more shall feel the victor’s tread, 
Or know the conquer’d knee ; 

The harpies of the shore shall pluck 
The eagle of the sea! 

0, better that her shatter’d hulk 
Should sink beneath the w r ave; 

Her thunders shook the mighty deep, 
And there should be her grave; 

Nail to the mast her holy flag, 

Set every threadbare sail, 

And give her to the god of storms,— 
The lightning and the gale 1 




MY AUNT. 



Y aunt! my dear unmarried aunt! 
Long years have o’er her flown ; 
Yet still she strains the aching clasp 
That binds her virgin zone ; 

I know it hurts her,—though she looks 
As cheerful as she can ; 

Her waist is ampler than her life, 

For life is but a span. 


They braced my aunt against a board, 

To make her straight and tall; 

They laced her up, they starved her down. 
To make her light and small; 

They pinch’d her feet, they singed her hair. 
They screw’d it up with pins,—■ 

Oh, never mortal suffer’d more 
In penance for her sins. 


My aunt, my poor deluded aunt! 

Her hair is almost gray ; 

Why will she train that winter curl 
In such a spring-like way ? 

How can she lay her glasses down, 
And say she reads as well, 

When, through a double convex lens, 
She just makes out to spell? 

Her father—grandpapa! forgive 
This erring lip its smiles—- 
Vow’d she would make the finest girl 
Within a hundred miles. 

He sent her to a stylish school; 

’Twas in her thirteenth June; 

And with her, as the rules required, 

“ Two towels and a spoon.” 


So, when my precious aunt was done, 
My grandsire brought her back 
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth 
Might follow on the track); 

“ Ah ! ” said my grandsire, as he shook 
Some powder in his pan, 

“ What could this lovely creature do 
Against a desperate man! ” 

Alas ! nor chariot, nor barouche, 

Nor bandit cavalcade 
Tore from the trembling father’s arms 
His all-accomplish’d maid. 

For her how happy had it been ! 

And Heaven had spared to me 
To see one sad, ungather'd rose 
On my ancestral tree. 


















JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 


97 


THE GOTHIC GENIUS. 

FROM “ THE CATHEDRAL.” 


SEEM to have heard it said by learned folk, 
Who drench you with aesthetics till you feel 
As if all beauty were a ghastly bore, 

The faucet to let loose a wash of words, 
That Gothic is not Grecian, therefore worse; 

But, being convinced by much experiment 
How little inventiveness there is in man, 

Grave copier of copies, I give thanks 
For a new relish, careless to inquire 
My pleasure’s pedigree, if so it please— 

Nobly I mean, nor renegade to art. 

The Grecian gluts me with its perfectness, 
Unanswerable as Euclid, self-contained, 

The one thing finished in this hasty world— 

For ever finished, though the barbarous pit, 
Fanatical on hearsay, stamp and shout 
As if a miracle could be encored. 


But ah ! this other, this that never ends, 

Still climbing, luring Fancy still to climb, 

As full of morals half divined as life, 

Graceful, grotesque, with ever-new surprise 
Of hazardous caprices sure to please; 

Heavy as nightmare, airy-light as fern, 
Imagination’s very self in stone! 

With one long sigh of infinite release 
From pedantries past, present, or to come, 

I looked, and owned myself a happy Goth. 

Your blood is mine, ye architects of dream, 
Builders of aspiration incomplete, 

So more consummate, souls self-confident. 

Who felt your own thought worthy of record 
In monumental pomp ! No Grecian drop 
Bebukes these veins that leap with kindred thrill, 
After long exile, to the mother tongue. 



"•O* 


THE ROSE. 


I. 



N his tower sat the poet 

Gazing on the roaring sea, 

“ Take this rose,” he sighed, “and throw it 
Where there’s none that loveth me. 

On the rock the billow bursteth, 

And sinks back into the seas, 


But in vain my spirit thirsteth 
So to burst and be at ease. 


Take, 0 sea ! the tender blossom 
That hath lain against my breast; 
On thy black and angry bosom 
It will find a surer rest, 

Life is vain, and love is hollow, 

Ugly death stands there behind, 
Hate, and scorn, and hunger follow 
Him that toileth for his kind.” 


Forth into the night he hurled it, 

And with bitter smile did mark 
How the surly tempest whirled it 
Swift into the hungry dark. 

Foam and spray drive back to leeward, 
And the gale, with dreary moan, 
Drifts the helpless blossom seaward, 
Through the creaking, all alone. 


Half in hope, and half in sorrow 
Tracing words upon the sand : 

“ Shall I ever then behold him 

Who hath been my life so long,- 
Ever to this sick heart fold him,-— 
Be the spirit of his song ? 

“ Touch not, sea, the blessed letters 
I have traced upon thy shore, 
Spare his name wdiose spirit fetters 
Mine with love forever more! ” 
Swells the tide and overflows it, 
But with omen pure and meet, 
Brings a little rose and throws it 
Humbly at the maiden’s feet. 

Full of bliss she takes the token, 
And, upon her snowy breast 
Soothes the ruffled petals broken 
With the ocean’s fierce unrest. 

“ Love is thine, 0 heart! and surely 
Peace shall also be thine own, 
For the heart that trusteth purely 
Never long can pine alone.” 

III. 


II. 

Stands a maiden, on the morrow, 
Musing by che wave-beat strand, 

7H 


In his tower sits the poet, 

Blisses new, and strange to him 
Fill his heart and overflow it 
With a wonder sweet and dim. 














9 S 


JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 


Up the beach the ocean slideth 
With a whisper of delight, 

And the moon in silence glideth 

Through the peaceful blue of night. 

Rippling o’er the poet’s shoulder 
Flows a maiden s golden hair, 
Maiden lips, with love grown bolder, 
Kiss his moonlit forehead bare. 

“ Life is joy, and love is power, 

Death all fetters doth unbind, 


Strength and wisdom only flower 
When we toil for all our kind. 

Hope is truth, the future giveth 
More than present takes away. 
And the soul forever liveth 

Nearer God from day to day.” 
Not a word the maiden muttered. 
Fullest hearts are slow to speak, 
But a withered rose-leaf fluttered 
Down upon the poet’s cheek. 


♦<>► 


THE HERITAGE. 



HE rich man’s son inherits lands, 

And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, 
And he inherits soft white hands, 

And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 


The rich man’s son inherits cares ; 

The bank may break, the factory burn, 
A breath may burst his bubble shares, 

And soft, white hands could hardly earn 
A living that would serve his turn; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 


The rich man’s son inherits wants, 

His stomach craves for dainty fare; 
With sated heart he hears the pants 

Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, 
And wearies in his easy chair; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man’s son inherit? 

Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 

A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; 

King of two hands, he does his part 
In every useful toil and art; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man’s son inherit? 

Wishes o’erjoy’d with humble things, 

A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit, 


Content that from employment springy 
A heart that in his labor sings; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

What doth the poor man’s son inherit ? 

A patience learn’d of being poor, 
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear itc, 

A fellow-feeling that is sure 
To make the outcast bless his door j 
A heritage, it seems to me, 

A king might wish to hold in fee. 

O rich man’s son! there is a toil, 

That with all others level stands; 

Large charity doth never soil, 

But only whiten, soft, white hands,—■ 
This is the best crop from thy lands; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

Worth Jyeing rich to hold in fee. 

0 poor man’s son ! scorn not thy state; 

There is worse weariness than thine, 

In merely being rich and great; 

Toil only gives the soul to shine, 

And makes rest fragrant and benign j 
A heritage, it seems to me, 

Worth being poor to hold in fee. 

Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, 

Are equal in the earth at last; 

Both, children of the same dear God* 
Prove title to your heirship vast 
By record of a well-fill’d past; 

A heritage, it seems to me, 

Well worth a life to hold in fee. 








JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 


THE ALPINE SHEEP. 

It is proper, in connection with the writings of Lowell, to insert the following poem by his wife, Maria 
White Lowell, a singularly accomplished and beautiful woman, born July 8, 1821, married to the poet 
Lowell in 1844. died on the 22d of October. 1853. In 1855 her husband had a volume of her poetry 
privately printed, the character of which may be judged from the following touching lines addressed to a, 
friend after the loss of a child. 


HEN on my ear your loss was knell’d, 

And tender sympathy upburst, 

A little spring from memory well’d, 

Which once had quench’d my bitter 
thirst, 

And I was fain to bear to you 
A portion of its mild relief, 

That it might be a healing dew, 

To steal some fever from your grief. 

After our child’s untroubled breath 
Up to the Father took its way, 

And on our home the shade of Death 
Like a long twilight haunting lay, 

And friends came round, with us to weep 
Her little spirit’s swift remove, 

The story of the Alpine sheep 
Was told to us by one we love. 

They, in the valley’s sheltering care. 

Soon crop the meadow’s tender prime, 

And when the sod grows brown and bare, 

The shepherd strives to make them climb 

• 

To airy shelves of pasture green, 

That hang along the mountain’s side, 

Where grass and flowers together lean, 

And down through mists the sunbeams slide. 



But naught can tempt the timid things 
The steep and rugged path to try, 

Though sweet the shepherds calls and singk, 
And sear’d below the pastures lie, 

Till in his arms his lambs he takes, 

Along the dizzy verge to go : 

Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks, 
They follow on o’er rock and snow. 

And in these pastures, lifted fair, 

More dewy-soft than lowland mead, 

The shepherd drops his tender care, 

And sheep and lambs together feed. 

This parable, by Nature breathed, 

Blew on me as the south wind free 

O’er frozen brooks that flow unsheathed 
From icy thraldom to the sea. 

A blissful vision through the night 
Would all my happy senses sway 

Of the Good Shepherd on the height, 

Or climbing up the starry way, 

Holding our little lamb asleep, 

While, like the murmur of the sea, 

Sounded that voice along the deep, 

Saying, “ Arise and follow me.” 


L of C. 








TOO 


WALT WHITMAN. 


BAREST TIIOU NOW, 0 SOUL. 


The following poems are from “ Leaves of Grass 
L. Trauble, Mr. Whitman’s literary executor. 


AREST thou now, 0 soul, 

Walk out with me toward the unknown 
region, 

Where neither ground is for the feet nor 
any path to follow ? 

No map there, nor guide, 

Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, 

Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are 
in that land. 

T know it not, 0 soul, 

Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us, 


and are published by special permission of Mr Horace 

4 

All waits undream’d of in that region, that inacces¬ 
sible land. 

Till when the ties loosen, 

All but the ties eternal, Time and Space, 

Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds 
bounding us. 

Then we burst forth, we float, 

In Time and Space, 0 soul, prepared for them, 
Equal, equipt at last, (0 joy ! O fruit of all!) them 
to fulfil, 0 soul. 



0 CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 



CAPTAIN ! my Captain ! our fearful trip 
is done, 

The ship has weather’d every rack, the 
prize we sought is won, 

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all 
exulting, 

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim 
and daring; 

But 0 heart! heart! heart! 

0 the bleeding drops of red, 

Where on the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 


0 Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and hear the bells; 
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle 
trills, 

For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the 
shores a-crowding, 


For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces 
turning ; 

Here Captain ! dear father! 

This arm beneath your head ! 

It is some dream that on the deck, 

You’ve fallen cold and dead. 


My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and 
still, 

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor 
will. 

The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage 
closed and done, 

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object 
won ; 

Exult 0 shores, and ring 0 bells! 

But I with mournful tread, 

Walk the deck my Captain lies, 

Fallen cold and dead. 


404 - 


IN ALL, MYSELF. 


FROM “ SONG OF MYSELF. 

The following lines have been commented upon as presenting a strange and erratic combination of the 
most commonplace prose with passionate and sublime poetic sentiment. 


AM the poet of the Body and I am the 
poet of the Soul, 

The pleasures of heaven are with me and 
the pains of hell are with me; 

The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter 
I translate into a new tongue. 


I am the poet of the woman the same as the man, 
And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a 
man, 

And I say there is nothing greater than the mother 
of men. 






















WALT WHITMAN. 


tor 


T chant the chant of dilation or pride, 

We have had ducking and deprecation about enough, 

1 show that size is only development. 

Have you outstript the rest? are you the President? 

It is a trifle, they will more than arrive there every¬ 
one, and still prtss on. 

I am he that walks with the tender and growing 
night, 

I call to the earth and sea, half-held by the night. 

Press close bare-blossom’d night—press close magnetic 
nourishing night! 

Night of the South winds—night of the large few 
stars! 

Still nodding night—mad naked summer night. 


Smile, 0 voluptuous cool-breath’d earth ! 

Earth of the slumbering and liquid trees! 

Earth of the departed sunset—earth of the mourn 
tain misty-topt! 

Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just 
tinged with blue ! 

Earth of the shine and dark mottling the tide of the 
river ! 

Earth of the limpid gray of clouds brighter and 
clearer for my sake ! 

Far-swooping elbow’d earth—rich apple-blossom’d 
earth ! 

Smile, for your lover comes. 

Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you 
give love! 

0 unspeakable, passionate love. 


-•C*- 


OLD IRELAND. 


AR hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty, 
Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrow¬ 
ful mother, 

Once a queen, now lean and tatter’d 
seated on the ground, 

Her old white hair drooping dishevel'd round her 
shoulders, 

At her feet fallen an unused royal harp, 

Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded 
hope and heir, 

Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow be¬ 
cause most full of love. 

Yet a word, ancient mother, 



You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground 
with forehead between your knees; 

0 you need not sit there veil'd in your old white hair 
so dishevel’d, 

For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave ; 

It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead; 

The Lord is not dead, he is risen again, young and 
strong, in another country, 

Even while you wept there by your fallen harp by 
the grave, 

What you wept for was translated, pass’d from the 
grave; 

The winds favor’d and the sea sail’d it; 

And now, with rosy and new blood, 

Moves to-day in a new country. 


PiEAN OF JOY. 


FROM “THE MYSTIC TRUMPETER.” 


Reference has been made to the similarity in style manifested in some of Whitman’s poems to the style 
of the Psalmist. Certain parts of “In all, myself,” and the following justify the criticism. 


OW trumpeter for thy close, 

Vouchsafe a higher strain than any yet, 
Sing to my soul, renew its languishing 
faith and hope, 

Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the 
future, 

Give me for once its prophecy and joy. 



0 glad, exulting, culminating song! 

A vigor more than earth’s is in thy notes, 

Marches of victory—man disenthral d the conqueror 
at last, 


Hymns to the universal God from universal man—ali 

j°y! 

A reborn race appears—a perfect world, all joy ! 
Women and men in wisdom, innocence and health— 
all joy ! 

Riotous, laughing bacchanals fill’d with joy ! 

War, sorrow, suffering gone—the rank earth purged 
—nothing but joy left! 

The ocean fill’d with joy—the atmosphere all joy! 
Joy ! joy ! in freedom, worship, love! joy in the 
ecstasy of life ! 

Enough to merely be ! enough to breathe 1 
Joy ! joy ! all over joy ! 














102 


BAYARD TAYLOR. 


THE SONG OF THE CAMP. 



TYE us a song 1 ” the soldiers cried. 

The outer trenches guarding, 

When the heated guns of the camps allied 
Grew weary of bombarding. 


The dark Redan, in silent scoff, 

Lay, grim and threatening, under; 

And the tawny mound of the Malakoff 
No longer belched its thunder. 

There was a pause. A guardsman said, 

“ We storm the forts to-morrow, 

Sing while we may, another day 
Will bring enough of sorrow.” 

There lay along the battery’s side, 

Below the smoking cannon, 

Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, 
And from the banks of Shannon. 

They sang of love, and not of fame; 

Forgot was Britain’s glory; 

Each heart recalled a different name 
But all sang “Annie Lawrie.” 

Voice after voice caught up the song, 

Until its tender passion 


Rose like an anthem, rich and strong,— 
Their battle-eve confession. 

Dear girl, her name he dared not speak 
But, as the song grew louder, 
Somethin" on the soldier’s cheek 

O 

Washed off’ the stains of powder. 

Beyond the darkening ocean burned 
The bloody sunset’s embers, 

While the Crimean valleys learned 
How English love remembers. 

And once again a fire of hell 
Rained on the Russian quarters, 

With scream of shot, and burst of shell 
And bellowing of the mortars! 

And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim 
For a singer, dumb and gory; 

And English Mary mourns for him 
Who sang of “ Annie Lawrie.” 

Sleep, soldier! still in honored rest 
Your truth and valor wearing; 

The bravest are the tenderest,— 

The loving are the daring. 




BEDOUIN SONG. 


DM the Desert I come to thee 
On a stallion shod with fire; 

And the winds are left behind 
In the speed of my desire. 

Under thy window I stand, 

And the midnight hears my cry: 

I love thee, I love but thee, 

With a love that shall not die 
Till the sun grows cold , 

And the stars are old , 

And the leaves of the Judgment 
/look unfold l 

Look from thy window and see 
My passion and my pain ; 

I lie on the sands below, 

And I faint in thy disdain. 

Let the night-winds touch thy brow 
With the heat of my burning sigh, 


And melt thee to hear the vow 
Of a love that shall not die 
Till the sun grows cold , 

And the stars are old , 

And the leaves of the Judgment 
Booh unfold! 

My steps are nightly driven, . 

By the fever in my breast, 

To hear from thy lattice breathed 
The word that shall give me rest. 

Open the door of thy heart, 

And open thy chamber door, 

And my kisses shall teach thy lips 
The love that shall fade no more 
Till the sun grows cold , 

And the stars are old , 

And the leaves of the Judgment 
Booh unfold! 



-•O*- 












JEAN INGELOW. 


icn 


SONGS OF SEVEN. 


SEVEN TIMES ONE. 

Exultation. 


HERE’S no dew left on the daisies and 
clover. 

There’s no rain left in heaven: 

I’ve said my “seven times” over and over, 

Seven times one are seven. 



I am old, so old, I can write a letter; 

My birthday lessons are done; 

The lambs play always, they know no better; 
They are only one times one. 


O moon ! in the night I have seen you sailing 
And shining so round and low; 

You were bright,! ah bright! but your light is 
failing,— 

You are nothing now but a bow. 


You moon, have you done something wrong in 
heaven 

That God has hidden your face ? 

I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven, 

And shine again in your place. 


O columbine, open your folded wrapper. 
Where two twin turtle-doves dwell! 

O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper 
That hangs in your clear green bell ! 


And show me your nest with the young ones in it; 

I will not steal them away; 
f am old ! you may trust me, linnet, linnet,— 

I am seven times one to-day. 


Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are 
over, 

And mine, they are yet to be; 

No listening, no longing shall aught, aught dis¬ 
cover ; 

You leave the story to me. 

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster, 
Nor long summer bide so late; 

And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, 
For some things are ill to wait. 


I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, 
While dear hands are laid on my head ; 

“ The child is a woman, the book may close over, 
For all the lessons are said.” 


I wait for my story—the birds can not sing it, 

Not one, as he sits on the tree; 

The bells can not ring it, but long years, oh bring 
it, 

Such as I wish it to be. 


SEVEN TIMES THREE. 

Love. 

I lean’d out of window, I smelt the white clover, 
Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; 
“ Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one 
lover— 

Hush, nightingale, hush ! O sweet nightingale, 
wait 

Till I listen and hear 
If a step draweth near, 

For my love he is late ! 


SEVEN TIMES TWO. 

Romance. 

You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your 
changes, 

How many soever they be, 

And let the brown meadow-lark’s note as he 
ranges 

Come over, come over to me. 


“ The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and 
nearer, 

A cluster of stars hang like fruit in the tree, 

The fall of the river comes sweeter, comes 
clearer: 

To what art thou listening, and what dost thou 
see ? 

Let the star-clusters glow. 

Let the sweet waters flow. 

And cross quickly to me. 


Yet bird’s clearest carol by fall or by swelling 
No magical sense conveys, 

And the bells have forgotten their old art of 

telling 

The fortune of future davs. 


“ You night-moths that hover where honey brims 
over 

From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep ; 
You glow-worms, shine out, and the pathway 
discove r 








» 


JEAN INGELOW. 


To him that comes darkling along the rough 
steep. 

Ah, my sailor, make haste. 

For the time runs to waste. 

And my love lieth deep— 

Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one 
lover, 

I’ve conn’d thee an answer, it waits thee to¬ 
night.” 

By the sycamore pass’d he, and through the 
white clover, 

Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took 
flight; 

But I’ll love him more, more 
Than e’er wife loved before, 

Be the days dark or bright. 

SEVEN TIMES FIVE. 

Widowhood. 

J sleep and rest, my heart makes moan 
Before I am well awake ; 

“ Let me bleed ! O let me alone, 

Since I must not break ! ” 

% 

For children wake, though fathers sieep 
With a stone at foot and head ; 

O sleepless God, forever keep, 

Keep Doth living and dead ! 


I lift mine eyes and what to see, 

But a world happy and fair ? 

I have not wished it to mourn with me— 
Comfort is not there. 

Oh, what anear but golden brooms. 

And a waste of reedy rills ! 

Oh, what afar but the fine glooms 
On the rare blue hills 1 

I shall not die, but live forlorn ; 

How bitter it is to part! 

Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more \ 
Oh, my heart,' my heart! 

No more to hear, no more to see; 

Oh, that an echo might wake, 

And waft one note of thy psalm to me 
Ere my heart-strings break ! 

I should know it how faint soe’er, 

And with angel-voices blent; 

Oh, once to feel thy spirit anear, 

I could be content 1 

Or once between the gates of gold,, 
While an angel entering trod, 

But once—thee sitting to behold 
On the hills of God I 










EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. 


105 


BETROTHED ANEW. 


“The sunshine of the outer world beautifully illustrates the sunshine of the heart in the ‘ Betrothet 
Anew ’ of Edmund Clarence Stedman.”— Morris. 


HE sunlight fills the trembling air, 

And balmy days their guerdons bring; 
The Earth again is young and fair, 

And amorous with musky spring. 

The golden nurslings of the May 

I 11 splendor strew the spangled green, 

And hues of tender beauty play, 

Entangled where the willows lean. 

Mark how the rippled currents flow; 

What lustres on the meadows lie! 

And, hark ! the songsters come and go, 

And trill between the earth and sky. 

Who told us that the years had fled, 

Or borne afar our blissful youth ? 

Such joys are all about us spread, 

We know the whisper was not truth. 

The birds that break from grass and grove 
Sing every carol that they sung 



When first our veins were rich with love 
And May her mantle round us flung. 

0 fresh-lit dawn ! immortal life ! 

0 Earth’s betrothal, sweet and true, 
With whose delights our souls are rife! 
And aye their vernal vows renew! 

Then, darling, walk with me this morn; 

Let your brown tresses drink its sheen; 
These violets, within them worn, 

Of floral fays shall make you queen. 

What though there comes a time of pain 
When autumn winds forebode decay ? 
The days of love are born again; 

That fabled time is far away! 

And never seemed the land so fair 
As now, nor birds such notes to sing, 
Since first within your shining hair 
I wove the blossoms of the spring. 




THE DOOR STEP. 


HE conference meeting through at last, 
We boys around the vestry waited, 
To see the girls come tripping past 
Like snow-birds willing to be mated. 

Not braver he that leaps the wall, 

By level -musket-flashes litten, 

Than I, who stepped before them all 
Who longed to see me get the mitten. 

But no, she blushed and took my arm! 

We let the old folks have the highway, 

And started toward the M°ple Farm, 

Along a kind of lovers’ by-way. 

1 can’t remember what we said, 

’Twas nothing worth a song or story, 

Y et that rude path by which we sped 
Seemed all transformed and in a glory. 

The snow was crisp beneath our feet, 

The moon was full, the fields were gleaming; 

By hood and tippet sheltered sweet 

Pier face with youth and health was beaming. 

The little hand outside her muff— 

0 sculptor, if yov could but mould it! 



So slightly touched my jacket-cuff, 

To keep it warm I had to hold it. 

To have her with me there alone, 

’Twas love and fear and triumph blended: 

At last we reached the foot-worn stone 
Where that delicious journey ended. 

She shook her ringlets from her hood, 

And with a “Thank you Ned,” dissembled 

But yet I knew she understood 

With what a daring wish I trembled. 

A cloud passed kindly overhead, 

The moon was slyly peeping through it, 

Yet hid its face, as if it said, 

“ Come, now or never, do it, do it I ” 

My lips till then had only known 
The kiss f mother and of sister, 

But somehow full upon her own 

Sweet, rosy, darling mouth—I kissed her! 

Perhaps ’twas boyish love, yet still, 

0 listless woman ! weary lover ! 

To feel once more that fresh wild thrill, 

I’d give—But who can live youth oveil 














io6 


LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. 


THE LAST 

shall we know it is the last good-bye ? 
The skies will not be darkened in that 
hour, 

No sudden light will fall on leaf or 
flower, 

No single bird will hush its careless cry, 

And you will hold my hands, and smile or sigh 
Just as before. Perchance the sudden tears 


GOOD-BYE* 

In your dear eyes will answer to my fears; 

But there will come no voice of prophecy: 

No voice to whisper, “ Now, and not again, 

Space for last words, last kisses, and last prayer, 
For all the wild, unmitigated pain 
Of those who, parting clasp hands with despair.” 

“ Who knows ?” we say, but doubt and fear remain. 
Would any choose to part thus unaware? 



f 

♦0 4 -- 


NEXT YEAR. 


HE lark is singing gaily in the meadow, the 
sun is rising o’er the dark blue hills; 
But she is gone, the music of whose talk¬ 
ing was sweeter than the voice of 
summer rills. 

Sometimes I see the bluebells of the forest, and think 
of her blue eyes ; 

Sometimes I seem to hear the rustle of her garments : 
’tis but the wind’s low sighs. 

1 see the sunbeams trail along the orchard, and fall 
in thought to tangling up her hair ; 

And sometimes round the sinless lips of childhood 
breaks forth a smile, such as she used to wear; 



But never any pleasant thing, around, above U3, 
seems to me like her love—■ 

More lofty than the skies that bend and brighten o’er 
us, more constant than the dove. 

She walks no more beside me in the morning; she 
meets me not on any summer eve ; 

But once at night I heard a low voice calling—“ Oh, 
faithful friend, thou hast not long to grieve!” 

Next year, when larks are singing gaily in the meadow, 
I shall not hear their tone; 

But she in the dim, far-off country of the stranger, 
will walk no more alone. 


-•O* 


MY MOTHER’S PICTURE. 


(FROM “ IN THE GARDEN OF DREAMS.”) 


E OW shall I here her placid picture paint 

With touch that shall be delicate, yet sure ? 
Soft hair above a brow so high and pure 
Years have not soiled it with an earthly taint, 
Needing no aureole to prove her saint; 

Firm mind that no temptation could allure; 

Soul strong to do, heart stronger to endure ; 


And calm, sweet lips that uttered no complaint. 

So have I seen her, in my darkest days 

And when her own most sacred ties were riven, 
Walk tranquilly in self-denying ways, 

Asking for strength, and sure it would be given; 
Filling her life with lowly prayer, high praise—• 

So shall I see her, if we meet in heaven. 


^Copyright, Roberts Bros. 























FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 


107 


DICKENS IN CAMP. 



BOVE the pines the moon was slowly drifting, 
The river sang below ; 

The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting 
Their minarets of snow. 


The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted 
The ruddy tints of health 

On haggard face and form, that drooped and fainted 
In the fierce race for wealth 


’Till one arose, and from his pack’s scant treasure 
A hoarded volume drew, 

And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure 
To hear the tale anew. 


The fir-trees, gathering closer in the shadows, 

Listened in every spray, 

While the whole camp with 11 Nell ” on English 
meadows 

Wandered and lost their way. 

And so, in mountain solitudes, o’ertaken 
As by some spell divine, 

Their cares drop from them like the needles shaker 
From out the gusty pine. 

Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire, 

And he who wrought that spell; 

Ah ! towering pine and stately Kentish spire, 

Ye have one tale to tell ! 


And then, while shadows ’round them gathered faster, 
And as the firelight fell. 

He read aloud the book wherein the Master 
Had writ of “ Little Nell.” 


Lost is that camp ! but let its fragrant story 
Blend with the breath that thrills 
With nop-vines’ incense, all the pensive glory 
That thrills the Kentish hills; 


Perhaps ’twas boyish fancy,—for the reader 
Was the youngest of them all,— 

But, as he read, from clustering pine and cedar 
A silence seemed to fall. 


And on that grave, where English tmk and hoii^, 
And laurel-wreaths entwine, 

Deem it not all a too presumptuous folly, 

This spray of Western pine f 







JOAQUIN MILLEB. 


108 


KIT CARSON’S RIDE. 


UN ? Now you bet you; I rather guess so. 
But he’s blind as a badger. Whoa, Pache, 
boy, whoa. 

No, you wouldn’t think so to look at his 
eyes. 

But he is badger blind, and it happened this wise ;— 

We lay low in the grass on the broad plain levels, 

Old Revels and I, and my stolen brown bride. 

“ Forty full miles if a foot to ride, 

Forty full miles if a foot and the devils 
Of red Camanches are hot on the track 
When once they strike it. Let the sun go down 
Soon, very soon,” muttered bearded old Revels 
As he peered at the sun, lying low on his back, 
Holding fast to his lasso ; then he jerked at his steed, 
And sprang to his feet, and glanced swiftly around, 
And then dropped, as if shot, with his ear to the 
ground,— 

Then again to his feet and to me, to my bride, 

While his eyes were like fire, his face like a shroud, 
His form like a king, and his beard like a cloud, 

And his voice loud and shrill, as if blown from a 
reed,—• 

“ Pull, pull in your lassos, and bridle to steed, 

And speed, if ever for life you would speed; 

And ride for your lives, for your lives you must ride, 
For the plain is aflame, the prairie on fire, 

And feet of wild horses, hard flying before 
I hear like a sea breaking hard on the shore; 

While the buffalo come like the surge of the sea, 
Driven far by the flame, driving fast on us three 
As a hurricane comes, crushing palms in his ire.” 

We drew in the lassos, seized saddle and rein, 

Threw them on, sinched them on, sinched them over 
again, 

And again drew the girth, cast aside the macheer, 
Cut away tapidaros, loosed the sash from its fold, 

Cast aside the catenas red and spangled with gold, 
And gold-mounted Colts, true companions for years, 
Cast the red silk serapes to the wind in a breath 
And so bared to the skin sprang all haste to the 
horse. 

Not a word, not a wail from a lip was let fall, 

Not a kiss from my bride, not a look or low call 
Of love-note or courage, but on o’er the plain 
So steady and still, leaning low to the mane, 

With the heel to the flank and the hand to the rein, 
Rode we on, rode we three, rode we gray nose and 
nose, 

Reaching long, breathing loud, like a creviced wind 
blows, 

Yet we spoke not a whisper, we breathed not a prayer, 


There was work to be lone, there was death in the air, 
And the chance was as one to a thousand for all. 

Gray nose to gray nose and each steady mustang 
Stretched neck and stretched nerve till the hollotf 
earth rang 

And the foam from the flank and the croup and the 
neck 

Flew around like the spray on a storm-driven deck. 
Twenty miles ! thirty miles—a dim distant speck— 
Then a long reaching line and the Brazos in sight. 
And I rose in my seat with a shout of delight. 

I stood in my stirrup and looked to my right, 

But Revels was gone ; I glanced by my shoulder 
And saw his horse stagger; I saw his head drooping 
Hard on his breast, and his naked breast stooping 
Low down to the mane as so swifter and bolder 
Ran reaching out for us the red-footed fire. 

To rip-ht and to left the black buffalo came, 

In miles and in millions, rolling on in despair, 

With their beards to the dust and black tails in the 
air. 

As a terrible surf on a red sea of flame 
Rushing on in the rear, reaching high, reach mg 
• higher, 

And he rode neck to neck to a buffalo bull, 

The monarch of millions, with shaggy mane full 
Of smoke and of dust, and it shook with desire 
Of battle, with rage and with bellowings loud 
And unearthly and up through its lowering cloud 
Came the flash of his eyes like a half-hidden fire, 
While his keen crooked horns through the storm of 
his mane 

Like black lances lifted and lifted again; 

And I looked but this once, for the fire licked 
through, 

And he fell and was lost, as we rode two and two. 

I looked to my left then, and nose, neck, and shoulder 
Sank slowly, sank surely, till back to my thighs; 

And up through the black blowing veil of her hair 
Din beam full in mine her two marvelous eyes 
With a longing and love, yet look of despair, 

And a pity for me, as she felt the smoke fold her, 
And flames reaching far for her glorious hair. 

Her sinking steed faltered, his eager ears fell 
To and fro and unsteady, and all the neck’s swell 
Did subside and recede, and the nerves fell as dead. 
Then she saw that my own steed still lorded his 
head 

With a look of delight, for this Pache, you see, 

Was her father’s and once at the South Santafee 
Had won a whole herd, sweeping everything down 
In a race where the world came to run for the crown 
And so when I won the true heart of my bride,— 








JOAQUIN 

M,« neighbor’s and deadliest enemy’s child, 

And cnild of the kingly war-chief of his tribe.— 
ehe brought me this steed to the border of the night 
She met Revels and me in her perilous flight, 

From the lodge of the chief to the north Brazos side ; 
And said, so half guessing of ill as she smiled, 

As if jesting, that I, and I only, should ride 
The fleet-footed Pach£, so if kin should pursue 
I should surely escape without other ado 
Than to ride, without blood, to the north Brazos side, 
And await her,—and wait till the next hollow moon 
Hung her horn in the palms, when surely and soon 
And swift she would join me, and all would be well 
Without bloodshed or word. And now as she fell 
From the front, and went down in the ocean of tire, 
The last that I saw was a look of delight 
That I should escape,—a love,—a desire.—- 
Yet never a word, not a look of appeal— 

Lest I should reach hand, should stay hand or stay neel 
One instant for her in my terrible flight. 

Then the rushing of fire rose around me and under, 
And the howling of beast like the sound of thunder— 
Beasts burning and blind and forced onward and over. 
As the passionate flame reached around them and 
wove her 


MILLER 109 

Hands in their hair, and kissed hot till they died,- - 
Till they died with a wild and a desolate moan, 

As a sea heart-broken on the hard brown stone. 

And into the Brazos I rode all alone— 

All alone, save only a horse long-limbed, 

And blind and bare and burnt to the skin. 

Then just as the terrible sea came in 

And tumbled its thousands hot into the tide, 

Till the tide blocked up and the swift stream brimme 1 
In eddies, we struck on the opposite side. 

“Sell Pach6—blind Pache? Now, mister! look here! 
You have slept in my tent and partook of my cheer 
Many days, many days, on this rugged frontier,” 
For the ways they were rough and Comanches were 
near; 

“ But you’d better pack up, sir! That tent is too sma’i> 
For us two after this ! lias an old mountaineer, 

Do you book-men believe, got no tum-tum at all ? 
Sell Pach£ ! You buy him ! a bag full of gold ! 

You show him ! Tell of him the tale I have told! 
Why he bore me through lire, and is blind and is old ! 
. . . N ow pack up your papers, and get up and spin 
To them cities you tell of. . . . Blast you and your 
tin 1 ” 


JOAQUIN MILLER’S ALASKA LETTER. 

the following extract from a syndicate letter clipped from the Phila- 


As a specimen of this author’s prose writing and style, we present 
*elphia Inquirer. 

Head of Lake Bennett, Alaska , August 2, 1897. 

WRITE by the bank of what is already a big river, 
and at the fountain head of the mighty Yukon, 
the second if not the first of American rivers. 
We have crossed the summit, passed the terrible 
Cliilkoot Pass and Crater Lake and Long Lake and 
Lideman Lake, and now I sit down to tell the story 
of the past, while the man who is to take me up the 
river six hundred miles to the Klondike row s his big 

scow, full of cattle, brought from Seattle. 

***** 

THE BEAUTY AND GRANDEUR OF CHILKOOT PASS. 

All the pictures that had been painted by word, all 
on easel, or even in imagination of Napoleon and his 
men climbing up the Alps, are but childish playthings 
in comparison with the grandeur of Chilkoot I ass. 
Starting up the steep ascent, we raised a shout and it 
ran the long, steep and tortuous line that reached 
from a bluff' above us, and over and up till it lost 
itself in the clouds. And down to us from the clouds, 
the shout and cry of exultation of those brave con¬ 


querors came back, and only died away when the 
distance made it possible to be heard no longer. And 
now we began to ascend. 

It was not so hard as it seemed. The stupendous 
granite mountain, the home of the avalance and the 
father of glaciers, melted away before us as we 
ascended, and in a single hour of brisk climbing we 
stood against the summit or rather between the big 
granite blocks that marked the summit. As I said 
before, the path is not so formidable as it looked, and 
it is not half so formidable as represented, but markj 
you, it is no boy’s play, no man’s play. It is a man’s 
and a big strong man’s honest work, and takes 
strength of body and nerve of soul. 

Right in the path and within ten feet of a snow 
bank that has not perished for a thousand years, I 
picked and ate a little strawberry, and as I rested and 
roamed about a bit, looking down into the brightly 
blue lake that made the head waters of the Yukon, 
I gathered a little sun flower, a wild hyacinth and a 
wild tea blossom for my buttonhole. 





I IO 


RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 


SUNSET FROM TIIE TRAIN * 


From u Five Boohs of Song ” (1894). 


UT then the sunset smiled, 

Smiled once and turned toward dark, 
Above the distant, wavering iine of trees 
that filed 
Along the horizon’s edge; 

Like hooded monks that hark 
Through evening air 
The call to prayer ;— 

Smiled once, and faded slow, slow, slow away; 

When, like a changing dream, the long cloud- 
wedge, 

Brown-gray, 

Grew saffron underneath and, ere I knew, 

The interspace, green-blue— 



The whole, illimitable, western, skyey shore, 

The tender, human, silent sunset smiled once more. 

Thee, absent loved one, did I think on now, 

Wondering if thy deep brow 

In dreams of me were lifted to the skies, 

Where, by our far sea-home, the sunlight dies; 

If thou didst stand alone, 

Watching the day pass slowly, slow, as here, 

But closer and more dear, 

Beyond the meadow and the long, familiar line 
Of blackening pine; 

When lo ! that second smile ;—dear heart, it was 
thine own. 


-♦O* 


“0 SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO THE SEA.” * 

F^om “ Five Boohs of Sonc " (1 894 ) 



SILVER river flowing to the sea, 

Strong, calm, and solemn as thy moun 
tains be! 

Poets have sung thy ever-living power, 
Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; 

Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep, 
What commerce thine, how many myriads reap 
The harvest of thy waters. They have sung 
Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung 
From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts 
Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts 
Of savage warriors that once plowed thy waves— 
Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves; 
The waving outline of thy wooded mountains, 


Thy populous towns that stretch from forest fountains 
On either side, far to the salty main, 

Like golden coins alternate on a chain. 

Thou pathway of the empire of the North, 

Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth ! 

I hear thee praised as one who hears the shout 
That follows when a hero from the rout 
Of battle issues, “ Lo, how brave is he, 

How noble, proud, and beautiful!” But she 
Who knows him best—“ How tender !” So thou art 
The river of love to me! 

—Heart of my heart, 

Dear love and bride—is it not so indeed?— 

Among your treasures keep this new-plucked reed. 


■o* 


“ THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN.”* 


From u Five Boohs of Song ” (1894). 


HERE is nothing new under the sun ; 
There is no new hope or despair; 
The agony just begun 

Is as old as the earth and the air. 
My secret soul of bliss 

Is one with the singing stars, 

And the ancient mountains miss 
No hurt that my being mars. 

I know as I know my life, 

I know -is I know my pain, 



That there is no lonely strife, 

That he is mad who would gain 
A separate balm for his woe, 

A single pity and cover; 

The one great God I know 

Hears the same prayer over and over 

I know it because at the portal 
Of Heaven I bowed and cried, 

And I said : “ Was ever a mortal 
Thus crowned and crucified 1 


Copyright, The Century Co. 


















RICHARD WATSON GILDER. 


ii j 


My praise thou hast made my blame; 

My best thou hast made my worst; 
My good thou hast turned to shame; 
My drink is a flaming thirst.” 

But scarce my prayer was said 
Ere from that place I turned; 


I trembled, I hung my head, 

My cheek, shame-smitten, burned; 
For there where I bowed down 
In my boastful agony, 

I thought of thy cross and crown— 
O Christ! I remembered thee. 




MEMORIAL DAY* 


From 11 Five Books 


of Song” (1894). 


HE saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, 
The flags that proudly waved; she heard 
the bugles calling; 

She saw the tattered banners falling 
About the broken staffs, as one by one 
The remnant of the mighty army passed; 

And at the last 

Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done. 

She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet 
As the long line swept round the crowded square, 
She heard the incessant hum 



That filled the warm and blossom-scented air— 

The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum, 

The happy laugh, the cheer. Oh glorious and meet 
To honor thus the dead, 

Who chose the better part, 

Who for their country bled ! 

—The dead! Great God! she stood there in the 
street, 

Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart— 

While far away 

His grave was decked with flowers ny strangers' handt 
to-day. 




A WOMAN’S THOUGHT* 

F, 'om “ Five Books of Song ” (1894). 


AM a woman—therefore I may not 
CaV; him, cry to him, 

Fly to him, 

Bid him delay not! 

And when he comes to me, I must sit quiet; 
Still as a stone— 

All silent and cold. 

If my heart riot— 

Crush and defy it! 

Should I grow bold, 

Say one dear thing to him, 

All my life fling to him, 

Cling to him— 

What to atone 
Is enough for my sinning! 

This were the cost to me, 

This were my winning —- 
That he were lost to me. 



Not as a lover 
At last if he part from me, 
Tearing my heart from me, 
Hurt beyond cure— 

Calm and demure 
Then must I hold me, 

In myself fold me, 

Lest he discover; 

Showing no sign to him 
By look of mine to him 
What he has been to me— 
How my heart turns to him, 
Follows him, yearns to him, 
Prays him to love me. 


Pity me, lean to me, 
Thou God above me I 


•CopvrJ^bt, The Century Co. 













112 


EUG ENE FT ELD. 


OUR TWO OPINIONS* 


S two wuz boys when we fell out— 

Nigh to the age uv my youngest now; 
Don’t rec’lect what ’twuz about, 

Some small difference. I’ll allow. 

Lived next neighbors twenty years. 

A-hatin’ each other, me ’nd Jim — 

He havin’ his opinyin uv me 

’Nd I havin’ my opinyin uv him ! 

Grew up together, ’nd wouldn’t speak, 

Courted sisters, and marr’d ’em, too 
’Tended same meetin’ housf oncet a week, 

A-katir each other, through ’nd through. 

Rut when Abe Linkern asked the West 
F’r soldiers, we answered—me ’nd Jim—- 
He havin’ bis opinyin uv me 

’Nd I havin’ my opinyin uv him 1 

Down in Tennessee one night, 

Ther was sound uv firin’ fur away, 

’Nd the sergeant allowed ther’d be a fight 
With the Johnnie Rebs some time next day; 



Nd as I was thinkin’ of Lizzie ’nd horn# 

Jim stood afore me, long ’nd slim— 

He havin’ his opinyin uv me 

’Nd I havin’ my opinyin uv him! 

deemed like we knew there wuz goin’ to be 
Serious trouble f’r me ’nd him— 

Us two shuck hands, did Jim ’nd me, 

But never a word from me or Jim ! 
lie went his wav, and I went mine, 

’Nd into the battle’s roar went we— 

I havin’ my opinyin uv Jim 

Nd he havin’ his opinyin uv me! 

Jim never come back from the war again, 
But I haint forgot that last, last night 
When waitin’ f’r orders, us two men 

Made up and shuck hands, afore the fight* 
’Nd, after it all, it’s soothin’ to know 
That here I be, ’nd yonder's Jim— 

He havin’ his opinyin uv me 

’Nd I havin' my opinyin uv him l 


LULLABY* 


AIR is the castle up on the hill— 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

The night is fair and the waves are still, 
And the wind is singing to you and me 
In this lowly home beside the sea— 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

On yonder hill is store of wealth— 

Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

And revellers drink to a little one’s health; 

But you and I bide night and day 
For the other love that has sailed away— I 

Hushaby, sweet my own 1 \ 

i 

See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep ‘ 

Ghostlike, 0 my own ! . 

Out of the mists of the murmuring deep ; ' 



Oh, see them not and make no cry, 

’Till the angels of death have passed us by— 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

Ah, little they reck of you and me— 
Hushaby, sweet my own ! 

In our lonely home beside the sea; 

They seek the castle up on the hill, 

And there they will do their ghostly will- 
Hushaby, 0 my own ! 

Here by the sea, a mother croons 
“ Hushaby, sweet my own ; ” 

In yonder castle a mother swoons 
While the angels go do n to the misty deep 
Bearing a little one fast asleep— 

Hushaby, sweet my own 1 


A DUTCH LULLABY* 



YNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 
Sailed off in a wooden shoe— 
Sailed on a river of misty light 
Into a sea of dew. 


“ Where are you going, and what do you wish ? * f 
The old moon asked the three. 

“ We have to come to fish for the herring-fish 
That live in this beautiful sea: 


* From “A Little Book of Western Verse” (1889). Copyrighted by Eugene Field, and published by Charles Scribner’s Sous, 















EUGENE FIELD. 


Nets of silver and gold have we, 

Said Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

The old moon laughed and sung a song, 

And they rocked in the wooden shoe, 

And the wind that sped them all night long 
Ruffled the waves of dew; 

The little stars were the herring-fish 
That lived in the beautiful sea; 

“Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 

Rut never afeared are we ”— 

So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 
For the fish in the twinkling foam, 

Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, 
Bringing the fishermen home. 


1 *3 

Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed 
As if it could not be ; 

And some folks thought ’twas a dream they’d dreamed 
Of sailing that beautiful sea. 

But I shall name you the fishermen three: 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed ; 

So shut your eyes while mother sings 
Of wonderful sights that be, 

And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock in the misty sea, 

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three- 
Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 


«>♦- 


THE NORSE LULLABY.* 


From “A Little Book of Western Verse” (1889). 


HE sky is dark and the hills are white 
As the storm-king speeds from the north 
to-night, 

And this is the song the storm-king sings, 
over the world his cloak he flings: 

“ Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep ! ” 
rustles his wings and gruffly sings: 

“ Sleep, little one, sleep ! ” 

On yonder mountain-side a vine 
Clings at the foot of a mother pine; 

The tree bends over the trembling thing 



And only the vine can hear her sing: 

“ Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep— 
What shall you fear when I am here ? 
Sleep, little one, sleep.” 

The king may sing in his bitter flight, 
The tree may croon to the vine to-night, 
But the little snowflake at my breast 
Liketh the song I sing the best: 

“ Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep; 
Weary thou art, anext my heart, 

Sleep, little one, sleep.” 


* Copyright, Charles Scribner’s Sons. 










T T 4 


JAMES WIIITCOMB RILEY 


James Whitcomb Riley, popularly called “ the Hoosier poet,” has been more 
widely read than any poet of recent years. His homely dialectic verse strikes 

the heartchord of humanity with a sympathetic touch. 

■ - 


OUR HIRED GIRL* 

FROM “ POEMS HERE AT HOME.” 


UR hired girl, she’s ’Lizabuth Ann; 

An’ she can cook best things to eat! 
She ist puts dough in our pie-pan, 

An’ pours in somepin’ ’at’s good an’ 
sweet; 

An’ nen she salts it all on top 
With cinnamon ; an’ nen she ’ll stop 
An’ stoop an’ slide it, ist as slow, 

In th’ old cook-stove, so’s ’t wont slop 
An’ git all spilled; nen bakes it, so 
It’s custard-pie, first thing you know! 

An’ nen she ’ll say, 

“ Clear out o’ my way! 

They’s time fer work, an’ time fer play! 
Take yer dough, an’ run, child, run! 

Er I cain’t git no cookin’ done ! ” 

When our hired girl ’tends like she’s mad, 

An’ says folks got to walk the chalk 
When she's around, er wisht they had! 

I play out on our porch an’ talk 
To th’ Raggedy Man’t mows our lawn; 

An’ he says, “ Whew ! " an’ nen leans on 
His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyes, 


An’ sniffs all ’round an’ says, “ I swawn! 

Ef my old nose don’t tell me lies, 

It ’pears like I smell custard-pies! ” 

An’ nen he 'll say, 

“ Clear out o’ my way ! 

They’s time fer work, an’ time fer play! 
Take yer dough, an’ run, child, run 1 
Er she cain’t git no cookin’ done! ” 

Wunst our hired girl, when she 
Got the supper, an’ we all et, 

An’ it wuz night, an’ Ma an’ me 

An’ Pa went wher’ the “ Social” met,— 
An’ nen w 7 hen w T e come home, an’ see 
A light in the kitchen-door, an’ we 
Heerd a maccordeun, Pa says, “ Lan’- 
O’-Gracious ! who can her beau be?” 

An’ I marched in, an’ ’Lizabuth Ann 
Wuz parchin’ corn fer the Raggedy Man f 
Better say, 

“ Clear out o’ the way! 

They’s time fer work, an’ time fer play! 
Take the hint, an’ run, child, run! 

Er we cain’t git no courtin’ done! ” 



THE RAGGEDY MAN* 

FROM “ POEMS HERE AT HOME. 


THE Raggedy Man ! He works fer Pa; 

I An’ he’s the goodest man ever you saw ! 

He comes to our house every day, 

An’ waters the horses, an’ feeds ’em hay; 
An’ he opens the shed—an’ we all ist laugh 
When he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf; 

An’ nen—ef our hired girl says he can— 

He milks the cow fer ’Lizabuth Ann.— 

Ain’t he a’ awful good Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy l Raggedy ! Raggedy Man 1 

W’y, the Raggedy Man—he’s ist so good, 

Hs splits the kindlin’ an’ chops the wood; 

An’ nen he spades in our garden, too, 

An’ does most things’t hoys can’t do.— 

He clumbed clean up in our big tree 
An’ shooked a’ apple down fer me— 

An’ ’nother ’n’, too, fer ’Lizabuth Ann— 

An’ ’nother ’n’, too, fer the Raggedy Man.— 

Ain’t he a’ awful kind Raggedy Man ? 

Raggedy 1 Raggedy 1 Raggedy Man ! 


An’ the Raggedy Map, he knows most rhymes, 

An’ tells ’em, ef I be good, sometimes: 

Knows ’bout Giunts, an’ Griffuns, an’ Elves, 

An’ the Squidgicuin-Squees ’at swallers therselvesS 
An’, wite by the pump in our pasture-lot, 

He showed me the hole ’at the Wunks is got, 

’At lives ’way deep in the ground, an’ can 
Turn into me, er ’Lizabuth Ann! 

Ain’t he a funny old Raggedy Man? 

Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! 

The Raggedy Man—one time, when he 
Wuz mukin’ a little bow’-n’-orry fer me, 

Says, “ When you ’re big like your Pa is, 

Air you go’ to keep a fine store like his— 

An’ be a rich merchunt—-an wear fine clothes 
Er what air you go’ to be, goodness knows ? ” 

An’ nen he laughed at ’Lizabuth Ann, 

An’ I says, “’M go’ to be a Raggedy Man!—» 

I’m ist go’ to be a nice Raggedy Man! ” 
Raggedy! Raggedy 1 Raggedy Man! 


*By permission of The Century Co. 














BOOK II 


HE 

RECITER AND 
SPEAKER 

EMBRACING 

IN SEVEN DEPARTMENTS 

OVER 250 CHOICE READINGS AND RECITATIONS 

PART I. THE LITTLE FOLKS’ SPEAKER 

Containing Bright and Pretty Speeches for Children. 

PART II. NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE SELECTIONS 

PART III. PATHETIC SELECTIONS 

PART IV. HUMOROUS READINGS AND RECITATIONS 

Containing the most pungent and funny pieces ever written in both Prose 
and Poetry. 

PART V. TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS 

PART VI. RELIGIOUS AND MORAL RECITATIONS 

This department has the very choicest pieces of a serious, instructive, religious 
or moral character. Well suited to Sunday-School and Church Entertainments. 

PART VII. SELECTIONS ON PATRIOTISM AND WAR 

Embracing stirring speeches in both Poetry and Prose to quicken the noble 
sentiment of Patriotism. The National hymns and battle calls, the happiest 
rhymes and the grandest pieces of patriotic eloquence of all Nations, concluding 
with Eulogies on the death of Queen Victoria and President McKinley. 












































' 




































































































































































































“PLAYING LITTLE HOUSEKEEPERS.’’ 

This is a scene from one of Dicken’s stories, and may be easily used for a tableau or setting for a dialogue. 







A SHADOW PANTOMIME FOR LITTLE FOLKS. 

Little Mother Correcting Her Child,” in which a little girl is punishing her doll-baby for being 
naughty, is the subject of an interesting pantomime. Another, “ The Little Grand¬ 
mother,” with cap and apron holding a book and intently reading, interests every¬ 
body as her picture is shadowed on the screen. 














Part I. 

THE LITTLE FOLKS’ SPEAKER 

S PEAKING and reciting in public not only pleases the little folks but it gives them 
self-confidence and stimulates their self-reliance. The following selections are suited 
to all sorts of boys and girls, and they are so varied in character, that parents and 
teachers will find little difficulty in picking out “ something appropriate ” for any occasion. 


THE CHILDREN 

hen the lessons and tasks are all 
ended, 

And the school for the day is dis¬ 
missed, 

And the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me “ good-night ” and be kissed ; 
Oh, the little white arms that encircle 
My neck in a tender embrace ; 

Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, 
Shedding sunshine of love on my face. 

And when they are gone I sit dreaming 
Of my childhood too lovely to last; 

Of love that my heart will remember, 

While it wakes to the pulse of the past, 
Ere the world and its wickedness made me 
A partner of sorrow and sin ; 

When the glory of God was about me, 

And the glory of gladness wfithin. 

Oh, my heart grows weak as a woman’s, 
And the fountains of feeling will flow, 
When I think of the paths steep and stony, 
Where the feet of the dear ones must go ; 
Of the mountains of sin hanging o’er them, 
Of the tempest of fate blowing wfild ; 

Oh, there is nothing on earth half so holy 
As the innocent heart of a child. 

They are idols of hearts and of households ; 

They are angels of God in disguise ; 

His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses ; 

His glory still gleams in their eyes. 

Oh, those truants from home and from 
heaven, 

They have made me more manly and mild, 
And I know now how Jesus could liken 
The Kingdom of God to a child. 


I ask not a life for the dear ones, 

All radiant, as others have done ; 

But that life may have just enough shadow 
To temper the glare of the sun : 

I would pray God to guard them from evil, 
But my prayer would bound back to my¬ 
self ; 

Ah ! a seraph may pray for a sinner, 

But a sinner must pray for himself. 

The twig is so easily bended, 

I have banished the rule and the rod ; 

I have taught them the goodness of know¬ 
ledge, 

They have taught me the wisdom of God 
My heart is a dungeon of darkness, 

Where I shut them from breaking a rule; 
My frown is sufficient correction ; 

My love is the law of the school. 

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, 
To traverse its threshold no more ; 

Ah ! how I shall sigh for the dear ones 
That mustered each morn at the door ! 

I shall miss the “ good-nights ” and the 
kisses, 

And the gush of their innocent glee, 

The group on the green, and the flowers 
That are brought every morning to me. 

I shall miss them at morn and at eve, 

Their song in the school and the street; 

I shall miss the low hum of their voices, 
And the tramp of their delicate feet. 
When the lessons and tasks are all ended, 
And Death says “The school is dis¬ 
missed ! ’ ’ 

May the little ones gather around me, 

To bid me “ good-night ’’ and be kissed. 

—Dickens. 

117 




118 


LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


LULU’S COMPLAINT. 

’SE a poor ’ittle sorrowful baby, 

For B’idget is ’way down ’fairs : 

My titten has scatched my fin’er, 

And Dolly won’t say her p’ayers. 

I hain’t seen my bootiful mamma 
Since ever so long ado ; 

An’ I ain’t her tunninest baby 
No londer, for B’idget says so. 

Mamma dot anoder new baby , 

Dod dived it—He did—yes’erday ; 

An’ it kies, it kies—oh ! so defful! 

I wis’ He would take it away. 

I don’t want no “ sweet ’ittle sister; ” 

X want my dood mamma, I do ; 

I want her to tiss me and tiss me, 

An’ tall me her p’ecious Lulu. 

I dess my dear papa will bin’ me 
A ’ittle dood titten some day ; 

Here’s nurse wid my mamma’s new baby ; 
I wis’ she would tate it away. 

Oh ! oh ! what tunnin’ red fin’ers ! 

It sees me ’ite out of its eyes; 

I dess we will teep it and dive it 
Some can’y whenever it kies. 

I dess I will dive it my dolly 
To play wid ’mos’ every day ; 

An’ I dess, I dess—Say, B’idget, 

Ask Dod not to tate it away. 


LITTLE TOMMIE’S FIRST SMOKE. 

’ve been sick. 

Mamma said ’mokin’ was a nasty, 
dirty, disgraceful habit, and bad for the 
window curtains. 

Papa said it wasn’t. He said all wise 
men ’moked, and that it was good for rheu¬ 
matism, and that he didn’t care for the win¬ 
dow curtains, not a—that thing what busts 
and drowns people ; I forgot its name. And 
he said women didn’t know much anyway, 
and that they couldn’t reason like men. 

So next day papa wasn’t nice a bit—that 
day I frew over the accawarium, and papa 
’panked me—and I felt as if I had the rheu¬ 
matism ever’ time I went to sit down, and 
so I just got papa’s pipe and loaded it and 


’moked it, to cure rheumatism where papa 
’panked me. 

And they put mustard plaster on my tum- 
mick till they most burned a hole in it, I 
guess. 

I fink they fought I was going to die. 

I fought so too. 

Mamma said I was goin’ to be a little 
cherub, but I fought I was goin’ to be awful 
sick. Nurse said I was goin’ to be a cherub, 
too—then she went to put a nuzzar mustard 
plaster on. 1 didn’t want her to, and she 
called me somefing else. I guess that was 
’cause I frew the mustard plaster in her 
face. 

I don’t want to be a cherub, anyway; I 
rutlier be little Tommie a while yet. But 
I won’t ’moke any more. I guess mamma 
was right. Maybe I’m sumfin’ like a win¬ 
dow curtain. ’Mokin’ isn’t good for me. 


A LITTLE BOY’S WONDER. 

For a Bright Little Fellow of Five Years — in 

Frock. 

I wonder, oh ! I wonder what makes ve 
sun go wound ; 

I wonder what can make ve fowers turn 
popin’ from ve gwound. 

I wonder if my mamma loves Billy morn’n 
me ; 

I wonder if I’d beat a bear a-climbin’ up a 
tree; 

I wonder how ve angels ’member every¬ 
body’s pwayers, 

I wonder if I didn’t leave my sandwich on 
ve stairs, 

I wonder what my teacher meant about ‘ ‘ a 
twuthful heart ’ ’ : 

I guess ’tis finkin’ untul Jack will surely 
bring my cart. 

I wonder what I’d do if I should hear a 
lion woar; 

I bet I’d knock ’im on vehead, and lay him 
on ve floor. 

I wonder if our Farver knew how awful I 
did feel 

When Tom’s pie was in my pottet, and I 
w T ead, “ You shall not steal.” 

I wonder if, when boys get big, it’s dreadful 
in ve dark ; 

I wonder what my doggie thinks when he 
begins to bark. 






LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


119 


I wonder what vat birdie says who hollers 
so and sings ; 

I wonder, oh ! I wonder lots and lots of 
over lings. 


CHRISTMAS HAS COME. 

Suitabel for Sunday school or other Christmas entertainment 
where a tree is a feature of the occasion. Should be recited just 
before presents are distributed, by a bright little girl of 6 or 7 
years. 

C hristmas day has come at last, 

And I am glad ’tis here; 

For, don’t you think, for this one day , 
I’ve waited just a year. 

I’m sure it should have come before, 

As sure as I’m alive ; 

Fifty-two Sundays make a year, 

And I’ve counted seventy-five. 

There’s one thing makes me very glad, 

As glad as I can be ; 

The years grow short as we grow old , 

And that will just suit me. 

I wish ’twas Christmas every month— 
That’s long enough to wait— 

For all the presents that I want, 

A year is very late. 

We’d have a tree, then, every month, 

And presents nice and new : 

{A voice in the audience says, “ Where would 
the moriey come from f”) 

Do Christmas trees cost anything t 
(,A voice, “ I guess they do /) 

Then one a year will do. 

And now I’ll take my seat, dear {fiends, 

And wait to hear my call; 

For I’ve a present on the tree, 

And I hope it is a doll. 


LITTLE KITTY. 

For a little girl of 6 or 7 years. To be recited it> ^ happy child" 

manner. 


And they spied the little mousie, 
Long time ago. 

Nine pearl teeth had little kittie, 
All in a row ; 

And they bit the little mousie, 
Long time ago. ’ 

When the teeth bit little mousie, 
Little mousie cried “ Oh ! ” 

But she got away from kitty, 
Long time ago. 

Kitty White so shyly comes, 

To catch the mousie Gray ; 

But mousie hears her softly step, 
And quickly runs away. 


AMONG THE ANIMALS. 

The boy who recites this speech should be a jolly looking 
fellow, who can smile as he speaks, and will talk right out and 
pronounce his words very distinctly. 

O ne rainy morning, just for a lark, 

I jumped and stamped on my new 
Noah’s ark : 

I crushed an elephant, smashed a gnu, 

And snapped a camel clean in two ; 

I finished the wolf without half tryin’, 

The wild hyena and roaring lion ; 

I knocked down Ham, and Japheth, too, 
And cracked the legs of the kangaroo. 

I finished, besides, two pigs and a donkey, 
A polar bear, opossum and monkey ; 

Also the lions, tigers and cats, 

And dromedaries and tiny rats. 

There wasn’t a thing that didn’t feel, 

Sooner or later, the weight o’ my heel 
I felt as grand, as grand could be, 

But oh, the whipping my mammy gave me! 


O NCE there was a little kitty, 
Whiter than snow: 

In the barn she used to frolic, 
Long time ago. 

In the barn a little mousie 
Ran to and fro; 

For she heard the kitty coming, 
Long time ago. 

Two black eyes had little kitty, 
Black as a sloe ; 


MARY AND THE SWALLOW. 


A Dialogue for two Little Girls. 

Mary is on the stage, but the girl impersonating the swallow 
should be out of sight of the audience. An imitative twittering 
may be heard before the dialogue commences. 



It 


The lilacs are in blossom, the 
cherry flowers are white ; 

I hear a sound above me, a twitter 
of delight; 

is my friend the swallow, as sure as 
I’m alive ! 






120 


LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


I’m very glad to see you ! Pray, when 
did you arrive ? 

S. I’m very glad to get here ; I only came 
to-day : 

I was this very morning a hundred 
miles away. 

M. It was a weary journey ; how tired you 
must be ! 

►S'. Oh no ! I’m used to traveling, and it 
agrees with me. 

M . You left us last September, and pray 
where did you go ? 

►S’. I went South for the winter, I always 
do, you know. 

M. The South ? How do you like it ! 

►S'. I like its sunny skies ; 

And round the orange-blossoms I 
caught the nicest flies. 

But when the spring had opened, I 
wanted to come back. 

M. You’re still the same old swallow! 
Your wings are just as black. 

►S'. I always wear dark colors ; I,m ever 
on the wing ; 

A sober suit for traveling I think the 
proper thing. 

M. Your little last year’s nestlings, do tell 
me how they grow. 

►S'. My nestlings are great swallows, and 
mated long ago. 

M. And shall you build this summer among 
the flowers and leaves ? 

S. No. I have taken lodgings beneath 
the stable eaves. 

You’ll hear each night and morning my 
twitter in the sky. 

M ’. That sound is always welcome. And 
now good-bye ! 

►S'. Good-bye. 

Marian Douglas. 


THEY SAY. 

hk subject of my speech is one 
We hear of every day— 

’Tis simply all about the fear 
We have of what “ they say .” 

How happy all of us could be, 

If, as we go our way, 

We did not stop to think and care 
So much for what “ they say." 


We never dress to go outside. 

To church, to ball, or play, 

But everything we wear or do 
Is ruled by what “ they say." 

Half of the struggles we each make 
To keep up a display, 

Might be avoided, were it not 
For dread of what “ they say." 

The half of those who leave their homes 
For Tong Branch and Cape may 
Would never go, if it were not 
For fear of what “ they say." 

One reason why I’m now so scared 
(Pardon the weakness, pray !) 

Is that I’m thinking all the while, 

“ Ot me what will ‘ they say I " 

But so ’twill be, I judge, as long 
As on the earth folks stay— 

There’ll always be, with wise and fools, 
That dread of what “ they say." 


TIME ENOUGH. 

Appropriate for Thanksgiving or Harvest 
Entertainment. 

T wo little squirrels, out in the sun— 

One gathered nuts, the other had 
none; 

“ Time enough yet,” his constant refrain, 

“ Summer is still just on the wane.” 

Listen, my child, while I tell you his fatej 
He roused him at last, but he roused him 
too late. 

Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud, 
And gave little squirrel a spotless white 
shroud. 

Two little boys in a school-room were 
placed ; 

One always perfect, the other disgraced ; 

“ Time enough yet for learning,” he said, 

“ I will climb, by and by, from the foot to 
the head.” 

Listen, my friends ; their locks are turned 
gray ; 

One, as a governor, sittetli to-day; 

The other, a pauper, looks out at the 
door 





LITTLE FOLKS > SPEAKER 


121 


Of tlie almshouse, and idles his days as of 
yore. 

Two kinds of people we meet every day; 
One is at work, the other at play, 

Living uncared for, dying unknown, 

The busiest hive hath ever a drone. 


THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

Decoration Day Entertainment. 
hey sat together, side by side, 

In the shade of an orange tree ; 

One had followed the flag of Grant, 
The other had fought with Lee. 

The boy in blue had an empty sleeve. 

A crutch had the boy in gray ; 

They talked of the long and weary march, 
They talked of the bloody fray. 

“ My chief is dead,” the Johnny .said, 

‘ ‘ A leader brave was he ; 

And sheathed fore’er at Lexington, 

Doth hang the sword of Lee.” 

‘ ‘ My leader dead, ’ ’—the boy in blue 
Spoke low and with a sigh— 

‘ ‘ And all the country mourning lay 
The day that Grant did die.” 

‘ ‘ God bless both our Lee and Grant 1 ’ ’ 

The vet’ran said, and then 

In heartfelt tones the answer came, 

From the Southern heart —“ Amen.” 


A LITTLE BOY’S LECTURE. 

The Boy Should Speak in a Loud , Oratorical 
Style and Look Very Dignified. 

ADIES AND GENTLEMEN : Nearly four 
hundred years ago the mighty mind 
of Columbus, traversing unknown 
seas, clasped this new continent in its 
embrace. 

A few centuries later arose one here who 
now lives in all our hearts as the Father of 
his Country. An able warrior, a sagacious 
statesman, a noble gentleman. Yes, Chris¬ 
topher Columbus was great. George Wash¬ 
ington was great. But here, my friends, in 
this glorious twentieth century is —& grater ! 

(At this point the boy should pause, and without cracking a 
smile, take from his pocket a large, bright tin grater, and hold it 
foi a few seconds in full view. The large kind used for horse¬ 
radish could be most easily distinguished by the audience.) 


DIALOGUE FOR TWO BOYS. 

Jack Frost and Tom Ruddy. 

A large boy, dressed in white, looking very cold, may repre¬ 
sent Jack Frost. A small boy, with rudely cheeks, warm clothes 
and gloves, and a pair of skates slung over his arms, should rep¬ 
resent Tom Ruddy. 

Jack Frost : 

W ho are you, little boy, on your way to 
the meadow, 

This cold winter day with your skates and 
your sled— O ? 

Tom Ruddy : 

My name is Tom Ruddy ; and though it is 
snowing, 

To the meadow, to skate and to coast, I am 
going. 

Jack Frost: 

You had better turn back now, my little 
friend Tommy, 

For the ground it is stiff, and the day it is 
stormy. 

Tom Ruddy : 

No, sir, if you please ; I do love this cold 
weather, 

And my coat is of wool, and my shoes are 
of leather. 

Jack Frost: 

To nip you and pinch you and chill you I’ll 
study, 

Unless you turn back and run home, Thomas 
Ruddy. 

Tom Ruddy: 

And who may you be sir, to talk to me thus, 
sir ? 

And what have I done, you should make 
such a fuss, sir. 

Jack Frost: 

My name and my calling I will not dissem¬ 
ble : 

Jack Frost is my name, Tom ! so hear that 
and tremble ! 

Tom Ruddy : 

Oh, you are that Frost, then, whose touch 
is so bitter; 






122 


LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


Who makes all our window-panes sparkle 
and glitter ! 

Jack Fross : 

Yes, I am Jack Frost, and now, Tom, I’m 
coming 

To chill you all over, your fingertips numb¬ 
ing. 

Tom Ruddy: 

My fingers lie snug in my gay little mit¬ 
tens, 

And the fur on my cap is as warm as a kit¬ 
ten’s. 

Jack Frost: 

I will breathe on your ears till they tingle ; 
so fear me, 

And scamper; Tom, scamper! Boo-hoo ! 
Do you hear me ? 

Tom Ruddy: 

I hear you, I know you, and if you can 
match me 

In sliding and coating, come catch me, 
Jack, catch me ! ( Runs .) 

Jack Frost: 

Stop ! stop ! He is gone, all my terrors de¬ 
fying ; 

To scare boys like Tom I had better stop 
trying_ 

A SCHOOL GIRL’S PRESENTATION 
SPEECH. 

EAR Teacher :—I have been requested 
by the girls of this school (or institu¬ 
tion) to offer you a slight token oi 
our affection and regard. I cannot tell you 
how delighted I am to be the means of con¬ 
veying to you the expression of our united 
love. What we offer you is a poor symbol 
of our feelings, but we know you will 
receive it kindly, as a simple indication of 
the attachment which each one of us 
cherishes for you in her heart of hearts. 
You have made our lessons pleasant to 
us— so pleasant that it would be ungrateful 
to call them tasks. We know that we have 
often tried your temper and forbearance, 
but vou have dealt gently with us in our 
waywardness, teaching us, by example as 


well as precept, the advantages of kindness 
and self-control. We will never forget you 
We shall look back to this school (or in¬ 
stitution) in after life, not as a place of 
penance, but as a scene of mental enjoy¬ 
ment, where the paths of learning were 
strewn with flowers; and whenever memory 
recalls our school-days, our hearts will 
warm toward you as they do to-day. I 
have been requested by my school-mates 
not to address you formally, but as a be- , 
loved and respected friend. In that light, 
dear teacher, we all regard you. Please 
accept, with our little present, our earnest 
good wishes. May you always be as happy 
as you have endeavored to make your 
pupils, and may they—nothing better could 
be wished for them—be always as faithful 
to their duties to others as 3 ^ou have been 
in your duties to them. 


CHILDREN’S DAY. 

Suitable salutatory at a Sunday school or missionary occa¬ 
sion in which the children are the entertainers. 

D ear friends and teachers, kind and true, 
You’re welcome—one and all; 

We think it very kind that you 
Have heard the children’s call. 

Some little songs we have to sing, 

Some little words to say— 

We pray you listen patiently, 

For this is Children' s Day. 

Great things have we to tell to you, 

Of children far away, 

Who have no parents, good like ours— 

No happy homes have they. 

They never heard of God’s dear Son, 

Who left His home above, 

And suffered on the cruel cross, 

That all might know His love. 

We want to bear the news to them, 

But we are weak and small; 

Unless encouragement we have 
Naught can we do at all. 

And so, dear friends, w r e welcome you, 

Your presence, courage brings ; 

We hope to prove, before you leave, 

The strength in little things. 





LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


123 


WORDS ON WELCOHE. 

An Opening Address for School or Sunday School 
Entertain m e?it. 

K ind friends and dear parents, we wel¬ 
come you here 

To our nice pleasant school-room, and 
teacher so dear ; 

We wish but to show how much we have 
learned, 

And how to our lessons our hearts have 
been turned. 

But hope you’ll remember we all are quite 
young, 

And when we have spoken, recited and 
sung, 

You will pardon our blunders, which, as all 
are aware, 

May even extend to the President’s chair. 

Our life is a school-time, and till that shall 
end, 

With our Father in heaven for teacher and 
friend, 

Oh, let us perform well each task that is 
given, 

Till our time of probation is ended in 
heaven. 


THE FIRST PAIR OF BREECHES. 

For a Bright Little Boy of 5 Years. 

I ’vE got a pair of breeches now, 
And I’ll have to be a man ; 

I know I can if just I try, 

My mamma says I can ! 

I’m going to school now very soon, 
And learn my A, B, C ; 

My mamma says I’m too young yet, 
But I am ’way past three. 

And I’ve got pockets in my pants, 
To put my pencil in ; 

For mamma says that I must write 
In school when I begin. 

I’ll soon be tall as papa—now 
I’ll grow as fast as I can, 

And don’t you think that very soon 
I’ll be a full-grown man ? 


WHEN MAMflA WAS A LITTLE GIRL. 

For a Girl of 7 or 8 Years with a Saucy Air. 
hen mamma was a little girl 
(Or so they say to me) 

She never used to romp and run, 

Nor shout and scream with noisy fun, 

Nor climb an apple tree. 

She always kept her hair in curl,— 

When mamma was a little girl. 

When mamma was a little girl 
(It seems to her, you see) 

She never used to tumble down, 

Nor break her doll, nor tear her gown, 

Nor drink her papa’s tea. 

She learned to knit, “ plain,” “seam,” and 
“ purl,”— 

When mamma was a little girl. 

But grandma says—it must be true— 

“ How fast the seasons o’er us whirl ! 
Your mamma, dear, was just like you, 
When she was grandma’s little girl.” 


THE WATERMILLION. 

HERE were a watermillion 
Growing on a vine, 

And there were a pickaninny 
A-watching it all the time. 

And when that watermillion 
Were a-ripening in the sun, 

And the stripes along its jacket 
Were coming one by one, 

That pickaninny hooked it, 

And toting it away, 

He ate that entire million 
Within a single day. 

He ate the rind and pieces 
And finished it with vim, 

And then that watermillion 
Just up and finished him. 


AN OPENING ADDRESS. 

Speak in a Half-Embarrassed and Conversa¬ 
tional Tone. 

I am a very little boy (or girl), and I sup¬ 
pose that is why the teacher puts me 
first to-day. But I am big enough to 
tell you that we are very glad to see you. 







124 


LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


I hope you will like this school very 
much. We will sing our best songs, and 
say our prettiest verses, and be just as good 
as we can all the time you stay, for we want 
you to come again. 

(Straighten up with dignity a?id speak loua 

and strong .) 

And now I’ll say my speech. This is it: 

Kind friends, we welcome you to-day 
With songs of merry glee ; 

Your loving smiles we strive to win, 
Each face we love to see. 

Sweet welcomes then to one and all, 

And may your smiles approve ; 

And may we never miss the light 
Of faces that we love. 


CLOSING ADDRESS. 

ind friends who have listened to our 
efforts to-day, I thank you in the 
name of the whole school for your 
presence and your attention. We hope we 
have not disappointed you. With many of 
us it has been our first attempt at public 
speaking. Long ago, a boy declaimed— 
before much such an audience, I dare say, 
as this—who said : ‘ ‘ Tall oaks from little 
acorns grow; ” and it is just as true to-day 
as then. We are fitting ourselves, little by 
little, to fill the places of the men and 
women of to-day. Years hence, you may 
hear from us mingling with the great world, 
helping forward, in one way and another, 
life’s good work. 

Teacher, we thank you for all your kind 
endeavors to do us good. May your good 
wishes for us be all fulfilled in years to 
come. 

Schoolmates, we part companionship to¬ 
day to go to our several homes, our various 
amusements, and our separate work. We 
part friends, and carry with us pleasant 
memories of the happy faces here. May 
onr future lives be as useful as our term has 
been pleasant. And may the world, the 
great school in which we are all scholars, 
find us faithful in all the good lessons we 
have to learn ;—in short, may we make our 
lives a grand success, and be admitted to a 
higher school in the life to come. 


And now, friends all, wfith thanks for the 
past, and good wishes for the future, it is 
mine to say good bye. 


AN ADDRESS TO A TEACHER. 

Choose a manly boy who will look the teacher in the eye and 
speak distinctly. 

D ear Teacher : The pleasant duty has 
been assigned me by my schoolmates 
of presenting you this token as an 
evidence of our lasting esteem, friendship, 
and love. We could not consent to part 
with you without leaving in your hands 
some memorial, however trifling, of deep 
and abiding gratitude for your unceasing 
efforts to benefit us. When in future days 
you look upon this memento, let it be a 
pleasant token of the deepest love and 
reverence of our young hearts. 


VALEDICTORY. 

T now, kind friends, devolves on me 
To speak our Val-e-dic-to-ry ; 

You’ve seen our exhibition through, 
We’ve tried to please each one of you— 
And if we’ve failed in any part, 

Lay it to head and not to heart; 

We thank you for your presence here, 

With kindly smiles our work to cheer, 

Our youthful zeal you do inspire 
To set our mark a little higer— 

But there’s much more than words can 
tell,— 

So thanking you we’ll say—farewell. 


THE BEST OF MENAGERIES. 

y pa’s the best menagerie 
That ever any one did see ; 

I need no pets when he is by 
To make the days and hours fly, 

For any bird or beast or fish 
I want, he’ll be whene’er I wish. 

For instance, if I chance to want 
A safe and gentle elephant, 

He’ll fasten on his own big nose 
One of my long black woolen hose, 
And on his hands and bended knees 
Is elephantine as you please, 












ENTERTAINMENT AND AMUSEMENT FROM SHAKESPEARE. 


The plays by the ancient English dramatist ars put upon the stage with quaint and interesting cos¬ 
tumes. These young people represent Olivia and Malvolio in Shakespeare’s “ Twelfth 
Night,” a play most interesting for reading aloud and for tableaux. 












YOUTHFUL “ ROMEO AND JULIET.” 

This represents Shakespeare’s famous play ” Romeo and Juliet” which is so popular, as it represents 

a sentiment common even in youthful hearts. 







LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


125 


And truly seems to like the sport 
Of eating peanuts by the quart. 

Then, when I want the lion’s roar, 

He’ll go behind my bedroom door, 

And growl until I sometimes fear 
The king of beasts is really near ; 

But when be finds my courage dim 
He peeps out, and I know it’s him. 

And he can ‘ ‘ meow ” just like a cat— 

No Tom can beat my pa at that—- 
And when he yowls, and dabs, and spits, 

It sends us all off into fits, 

So like it seems that every mouse 
Packs up his things and leaves the house. 

Then, when he barks, the passers-by 
Took all about with fearsome eye, 

And hurry off with scurrying feet 
To walk upon some other street, 

Because they think some dog is there, 

To rush out at ’em from his lair. 

And, oh, ’twould make you children laugh 
When papa plays the big giraffe. 

He’ll take his collar off, you know, 

And stretch his neck an inch or so, 

And look down on you from above, 

His eyes so soft and full of love, 

That, as you watched them, you would 
think 

From a giraffe he’d learned to blink. 

’Tis as a dolphin, though, that he 
Is strongest, as it seems to me, 

And I don’t know much finer fun 
Than sitting in the noonday sun 
Upon the beach and watching pop, 

As in the ocean he goes flop, 

And makes us children Tiink that he’s 
A porpoise from across the seas. 

And when he takes a tin tube out, 

And blows up water through the spout, 

The stupidest can hardly fail 
To think they see a great big whale ! 

And that is why I say to you 
My Pa’s a perfect dandy zoo, 

The very best menagerie 
That ever you or I did see. 

And what is finest let me say, 

There never is a cent to pay! 

G. V. Drakk. 


VACATION TIME. 

Droll Speech for a Boy of 10 Years at Closing 
Exercises of School. 

V acation time at last is here, 

The joiliest time in all the year ; 
Away with books, pencil and pens, 
Now is the time to visit our friends. 

We always to the country go— 

Me and my youngest brother Joe— 

We jump the fences, climb the trees, 

Run through the medders chasin’ bees; 

Fat peaches and apples, plums and grapes, 
And get in an orful lot of scrapes ! 

But then it’s vacation time, you know, 

I don’t think folks ought to mind things sc. 

One day last summer Joe and me 
Went down to the medder the bull to see. 
We couldn’t git a very good look at him. 

So we let down the bars and walked right 
Oh, you oughter seen his shiny eyes— 

Joe said “ he’s takin in our size ! ” 

And he frightened us so,—Oh, good stars ! 
We clean forgot to put up the bars. 

And that mean old bull, as shore’s you’re 
born, 

Walked right through them bars into grand¬ 
pa’s corn, 

And Joe and me didn’t know what to do, 
As ear after ear we seen him chew. 

Grandpa made an awful fuss, 

And Towed it happened all through us ; 
But then ’twas vacation time, you know, 

I don’t think he ought to minded it so. 

I tell you. my grandma knows how to 
bake— 

You never tasted such pies and cake. 

One day we wuz hungry and wanted a bite, 
But grandma she wuz nowhere in sight, 

So we thought we’d just help ourself. 

The things were on a high up shelf, 

So we got a chair and had to tip-toe; 

And that clumsy feller—my brother Joe— 

I just give him a little bit of a tilt, 

An’ he set down flat in a pan of milk. 
Grandma had an orful time makin’ his 
clothes clean, 

And said we spoiled every bit of her cream—• 
But then, ’twas vacation time, you know, 

I don’t think grandma got mad at Joe. 


126 


LITTLE FOLK'S ’ SPEAKER 


Grandma’s dog Rover’s a nice old chap, 
But he likes to take his afternoon nap. 

Joe and me spied him asleep one day, 

And thought we’d make him git up and 
play, 

So we slipped in the milk house and got a 
tin pail, 

And tied it fast to old Rover’s tail, 

And then we skeered him, and he runn’d 
like sin, 

And he rattled and banged and spoiled the tin. 
Grandma came out, and all the rest, 

And she said, “ You boys must bepersessed /” 
And, if we didn’t leave the animals and 
things alone, 

She’d pack our clothes and send us home. 
But then at vacation time, you know— 

I don’t think folks ought to mind things so. 

Mary B. Rheinfekdt. 


THE BLUEBELL’S REWARD. 

T wo little bluebells, growing side by 
side, 

Talked to a sunbeam, out for a ride ; 
One thought the sunbeam rude in his way, 
While the other one listened, but little to 
say. 

The floweret complained that the sunbeam 
did wrong 

In making his calls so exceptionally long, 
Declared : ‘ If he dared stay as long next 
day, 

She would close up her house, and go far, 
far away.’ 

The dear little floweret which silently stood, 
And quietly fastened her quaint dainty hood, 
Was wooed by the sunbeam and changed 
to a flower 

Of exquisite beauty high up on a bower. 

So children beware of the bluebell’s com¬ 
plaint, 

And let your retorts to your elders be faint; 
Thus gain by your silence the bower so 
bright, 

And thank the dear Father who leads you 
aright. 

He’ll bid every cloud from your sky to de¬ 
part 

And smiles in good pleasure at each kind, 
patient heart; 


Thro’ sunshine and showers be brave and 
be strong, 

Remembering ever, right conquers all 
wrong. 

Anna T. Hackman 


THE BOY WHO DSD NOT PASS. 

This selection may be made more attractive by introducing 
an elder'y gentleman to represent the boy’s father. Let the 
father recite the first stanza, and John, a manly boy, reply with 
the remainder. At the close, the father, clasping John’s hand, 
says : “ I believe you will, my boy,” and they leave the stage 
arm-in-arm. 

t i Qo, John, I hear you did not pass ; 

O You were the lowest in your class— 
Got not a prize of merit. 

But grumbling now is no avail; 

Just tell me how you came to fail, 

With all your sense and spirit ? ” 

“ Well, sir, I missed ’mong other things, 
The list of Egypt’s shepherd kings 
(I wonder who does know it). 

An error of three years I made 
In dating England’s first crusade; 

And, as I am no poet, 

‘ ‘ I got Euripides all wrong, 

. And could not write a Latin song ; 

And as for Roman history, 

With Hun and Vandal, Goth and Gaul, 
And Gibbon’s weary ‘ Rise and Fall,’ 
’Twas all a hopeless mystery. 

“ But, father, do not fear or sigh 
If Cram’ dues proudly pass me by, 

And pedagogues ignore me ; 

I’ve common sense, I’ve will and health. 
I’ll win my way to honest wealth ; 

The world is all before me. 

“ And though I’ll never be a Grecian, 
Know Roman laws or art Phoenician, 

Or sing of love and beauty, 

I’ll plow, or build, or sail, or trade. 

And you need never be afraid 
But that I’ll do my duty.” 


THE QUEER LITTLE HOUSE. 

Suitable for a bright little girl to recite. She should be taugte? 
proper modulation and expression of face 

T here’S a queer little house. 

And it stands in the sun. 
When the good mother calls. 





LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


127 


The children all run. 

While under her roof, 

They are cozy and warm, 
Though the cold wind may whistle 
And bluster and storm. 

In the daytime, this queer 
Little house moves away, 

And the children run after it, 
Happy and gay; 

But it comes back at night, 

And the children are fed, 

And tucked up to sleep 
In a soft feather-bed. 

This queer little house 

Has no windows nor doors— 
The roof has no shingle , 

The rooms have no floors— 

No fire-place, chimney, 

Nor stove can you see, 

Yet the children are cozy 
And warm as can be. 

The story of this 

Funny house is all true, 

I have seen it myself, 

And I think you have, too. 

You can see it to-day, 

If you watch the old hen, 

When her downy wings cover 
Her chickens again. 


A BOY’S LECTURE ON “KNIVES.” 

This lecture will be most effective, delivered in a boy's 
natural style. Try to imitate the boy's actions. The real art of 
rendering this selection is in being artlessly natural. 

L adies and Gentlemen : My subject 
is knives. There are two kinds of 
knives. I will mention them — 

eating-knives and jack-knives. You 

must not put eating-knives in your 
mouth, you can a jack-knife, because then 
3^011 do not have any fork—I mean when 
you are eating raw sweet potatoes or raw 
turnips, or any raw things out of doors. 
You can do nineteen things with a jack¬ 
knife. I will mention them — whittle, 
sharpen pencils, clip off finger-nails and 
thumb ones, play mum’l-ti-peg, cut knots, 
punch holes, shock out clams and oysters, 
clean fishes, cut your name on anything, 
eat apples and pumpkin pi’—seeds and 
other things, make whistles, whet it on a 


whet-stone, cut 3 T our fingers with it, break 
. it, swap it, lose it, find it, give it away. 
Every fellow that borrows a jack-knife 
ought to give it right back again. I don’t 
mean before he is done with it. 

A jack-knife is made of two parts. 1 
will mention them—the handle and the 
blade. You can have a knife with six 
blades, if anybody will give you one. Your 
father and mother hardly ever give you a 
six-blader. They do not think it is best. 
Some little fellows have numb jack-knives. 
Numb jack-knives are made not to cut; 
my little brother has a numb jack-knife. 
Jack-knives are very easy to lose. A fellow 
almost always loses his knife. He feels 
very sorry when he first finds out he cannot 
find his knife. He does not believe that 
knife is lost. He keeps feeling in his 
pocket, for he believes it is there some¬ 
where under his ball or his jews-harp, or 
his pocket-handkerchief, or amongst the 
crumbles. Then he begins and empties out 
all these things, and turns his pocket inside 
out, and shakes it, and stands up, and 
shakes his trousers-leg, and looks dow T n on 
the floor, and puts them all in again, and 
then he begins to hunt. 

One day I lost my knife, and I hunted 
for it in ninety-seven different places. I 
will mention them—in my mother’s work- 
basket, in her other w T ork-basket, in her 
darn-stocking bag, in eight of her bureau 
drawers, in six cracks of the floor, up gar¬ 
ret, in the ash-pail, all over eight floors 
crawling, in the cookie-pot, in my mother’s 
pocket, in the baby’s cradle, in the apple- 
barrel, on four top shelves, on seventeen 
other shelves, in the spoon-holder, in ten of 
my father’s pockets, in fourteen of my big 
brother’s pockets, in four of my pockets, 
on six mantelpieces, in the waste-basket, in 
my sister’s doll-house, in her bureau drawer, 
in the bed-clothes chest, in my mother’s 
trunk, in four of my sister’s pockets, and 
all the time my knife was in my trousers-leg, 
inside of the outside part of the trousers- 
leg, back of the lining of it. 

Ladies and gentlemen : Many thanks for 
your kind attention. My next lecture will 
be on “ Swapping.” 

Mrs. Abby Morton Dias, 
in Wide Awah* 



128 


LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

For Washington's birthday entertainment. Select five small 
boys. Let each boy hold a card with date in view of audience 
during his recitation. 

1732.—Tn seventeen hundred thirty-two 
JL George Washington was born ; 
Truth, goodness, skill, and glory 
high, 

His whole life did adorn. 

177 5- In seventeen hundred seventy-five, 
The chief command he took 
Of all the army in the State, 

And ne’er his flag forsook. 

1783. —In seventeen hundred eighty-three, 
Retired to private life, 

He saw his much-loved country 
free 

From battle and from strife. 

1789.—In seventeen hundred eighty-nine 
The country with one voice, 
Proclaimed him President to 
shine, 

Blessed by the peoples choice. 

3799. —-In seventeen hundred ninety-nine 

The Nation’s thears were shed, 
To see the Patriot life resign, 

And sleep among the dead. 

AIL —As “ first in war, and first in peace,” 
As patriot, father, friend, 

He will be blessed till time shall 
cease, 

And earthly life shall end. 


BOYS WANTED. 

1 CVK 7~ an ted, a boy.” How often we 
V V These very common words may 
see, 

Wanted—a boy to errands run, 

Wanted for everything under the sun. 

All that the men to-day can do 
To-morrow the boys will be doing too, 

For the time is ever coming when 
The boys must stand in place of men. 

Wanted—the world wants boys to-day, 

And she offers them all she has for pay. 
Honor, wealth, position, fame, 

A useful life and a deathless name. 


Boys to shape the paths for men, 

Boys to guide the plow and pen, 

Boys to forward the tasks begun. 

The world is axious to employ 
Not Just one, but every boy 
Whose heart and brain will e’er be true 
To work his hands shall find to do, 
Honest, faithful, earnest, kind ; 

To good awake, to evil blind ; 

Heart of gold without alloy. 

Watited: The world wants such a boy. 


WHAT A BOY CAN DO. 

HESE are some of the things that a boy 
can do : 

He can whistle so loud the air turns 
blue ; 

He can make all the sounds of beast and 
bird, 

And a thousand noises never heard. 

He can crow or cackle, or he can cluck 
As well as a rooster, hen, or duck ; 

He can bark like a dog, he can low like a 
cow, 

And a cat itself can’t beat his ” me-ow.” 

He has sounds that are ruffled, striped and 
plain ; 

He can thunder by as a railway train, 

Stop at the stations a breath, and then 
Apply the steam and be off again. 

He has all his powers in such command 
He can turn right into a full brass band, 
With all of the instruments ever played, 

As he makes of himself a street parade. 

You can tell that a boy is very ill 
If he’s wide awake and keeping still. 

But earth would be—God bless theii 
noise !— 

A dull old place if there were no boys. 

BABY’S LOGIC. 

Catchy Encore Selection. 

S HE was ironing her dolly’s new gown 
Maid Marian, four years old, 

With her brows puckered down 
In a painstaking frown 
Under her tresses of gold. 






LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


129 


’ Twas Sunday, and nurse coming in 
Exclaimed in a tone of surprise: 

“ Don’t you know it’s a sin 
Any work to begin 

On the day that the Lord sanctifies ?” 

Then, lifting her face like a rose, 

Thus answered this wise little tot: 

‘ Now, don’t you suppose 
The good Lord he knows 
This little iron ain’t hot ? ” 

Elizabeth W. Bellamy. 


A SCHOOL IDYL. 

am it in, cram it in; 

Children’s heads are hollow, 
Slam it in, jam it in ; 

Still there’s more to follow— 
Hygiene and history. 
Astronomic mystery, 

Algebra, histology, 

Latin, etymology, 

Botany, geometry, 

Greek and trigonometry. 

Ram it in, cram it in ; 

Children’s heads are hollow. 

Rap it in, tap it in ; 

What are teachers paid for ? 

Bang it in, slam it in : 

What are children made for; 

Ancient archaeology, 

Aryan philology, 

Prosody, zoology, 

Physics, clinictology 
Calculus and mathematics, 
Rhetoric and hydrostatics 
Hoax it in, coax it in ; 

Children’s head’s are hollow. 

Scold it in, mould it in ; 

All that they can swallow. 

Fold it in, mould it in ; 

Still there’s more to follow. 

Faces pinched, and sad, and pale, 

Tell the same undying tale— 

Tell of moments robbed from sleep, 
Meals untasted, studies deep. 

Those who’ve passed the furnace 
through, 

With aching brow, will tell to you 
How the teacher crammed it in, 
Rammed it in, jammed it in, 

9 H 


4 

Crunched it in, punched it in, 
Rubbed it in, clubbed it in, 

Pressed it in, caressed it in, 

Rapped it in and slapped it in— 
When their heads were hollow. 
“Rehoboth Sunday Herald/’ 


A FOURTH OF JULY RECORD. 

Suitable to Fourth of July Entertainment . 

T was a wide-awake little boy 

Who rose with the break of day; 

2 were the minutes he took to dress, 

Then he was off and away. 

3 were his leaps when he cleared the stairs, 
Although they were steep and high ; 

4 was the number which caused his haste, 
Because it was Fourth of July ! 

5 were his pennies which went to buy 
A package of crackers red ; 

6 were the matches which touched them off 
And then—he was back in bed. 

7 big plasters he had to wear 
To cure his fractures sore ; 

8 were the visits the doctor made, 

Before he was whole once more. 

9 were the dolorous days he spent 
In sorrow and pain ; but then 

10 are seconds he’ll stop to think 
Before he does it again. 

Lilian Dynevor Rice. 


DAYS OF THE WEEK. 

For Seven Little Boys and Girls. Teacher or 
some Large Boy or Girl Should Speak. 

T he days of the week once talking to¬ 
gether 

About their housekeeping, theii 
friends and the weather, 

Agreed in their talk it would be a nice 
thing 

For all to march, and dance, and sing; 

So they all stood up in a very straight row, 
And this is the way they decided to go : 






i 3 ° 


LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


{Let seven children stand up , and as day of 
week is called , take places , each one equipped 
with the things the speaker mentions .) 

First came little Sunday, so sweet and good, 
With a book in her hand, at the head she 
stood. 

Monday skipped in with soap and a tub, 
Scrubbing away with a rub-a-dub-dub, 

With board and iron came Tuesday bright, 
Talking to Monday in great delight. 

Then Wednesday—the dear little cook— 
came in, 

Riding cock horse on his rolling-pin. 
Thursday followed, with broom and brush, 
Her hair in a towel, and she in a rush. 
Friday appeared, gayly tripping along ; 

He scoured the knives, and then he was gone. 
Saturday last, with a great big tub, 

Into which we all jump for a very good rub. 

{The children march a?id sing to the tune of 
“ Good Morning , Merry Sunshine."') 

Children of the week are we, 

Happy, busy, full of glee. 

Often do we come this way, 

And you meet us every day. 

Hand in hand we trip along, 

Singing as we go, a song. 

Each one may a duty bring, 

Though it be a little thing. 

{All bow , and taking up the articles retire 
from the stage hi order , Sunday , Monday , etc. 

Mary Ely Page. 


IF I WERE YOU. 

I F I were you, and went to school 
I’d never break the smallest rule, 
And it should be my teacher’s joy 
To say she had no better boy. 

And ’twould be true, 

If I were you. 

If I were you, I’d always tell 
The truth, no matter what befell; 

For two things only I despise, 

A coward heart and telling lies; 

And you would, too, 

If I were you. 


WHAT TO DRINK. 

think that every mother’s son 
And every father’s daughter, 

Should drink at least till twenty-one. 


Just nothing but cold water. 

And after that, they might drink tea, 
But nothing any stronger ; 

If all folks would agree with me, 
They’d live a great deal longer. 


THE BLESSED ONES. 

Sunday School Entertainment. Select nine Chil¬ 
dren, stand them in line , and one by 
one step Jorward and speak. 

LESSED are the poor in spirit: for theirs 
is the kingdom of heaven. 
Blessed are they that mourn : for they 
shall be comforted. 

Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit 
the earth. 

Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst 
after righteousness : for they shall be 
filled. 

Blessed are the merciful: for they shall ob¬ 
tain mercy. 

Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall 
see God. 

Blessed are the peacemakers : for they shall 
be called the children of God. 

Blessed are they that are persecuted for 
righteousness’ sake : for theirs is the 
kingdom of heaven. 

Blessed are ye when men shall revile you, 
and persecute you, and shall say all 
manner of evil against you falsely, 
for my sake. 

{All stand in line and repeat together :) 

Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great 
is your reward in heaven ; for so per¬ 
secuted they the prophets which were 
before you. 

From Matthew, 5. 2-12. 


TWENTY-THIRD PSALM. 

Suited for Church or Sunday school. Arranged for five little 
boys or girls. May be repeated at entertainment or befo.-eSun. 
day school. Speakers should stand in line and recite one aftef 
the other. 

First Speaker. 

HE Lord is my shepherd ; 

I shall not want. 

Second Speaker. 

He maketh me to lie down in green pas¬ 
tures ; 

He leadeth me beside the still waters; 









LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


Third Speaker. 

He restoreth my soul; 

He leadeth me in the path of righteousness 
for His name’s sake. 

Fourth Speaker. 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of 
the shadow of death, 

I fear no evil; for Thou art with me ; 

Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me. 

Fifth Speaker. 

Thou preparest a table before me in the 
presence of mine enemies ; 

Thou anointest my head with oil; 

My cup runneth over. 

Aeetogether. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (me) 
us all the days of (my) our (life) 
lives : 

And (I) we will dwell in the house of the 
Lord for ever. 


REMEMBER, BOYS MAKE MEN. 

hen you see a ragged urchin 
Standing wistful in the street, 
With torn hat and kneeless trousers, 
Dirty face and bare red feet, 

Pass not by the child unheeding, 

Smile upon him. Mark me, when 
He’s grown he’ll not forget it, 

For, remember, boys make men. 

When the buoyant youthful spirits 
Overflow in boyish freak, 

Chide your child in gentle accents, 

Do not in your anger speak ; 

You must sow in youthful bosoms 
Seeds of tender mercies ; then 
Plants will grow and bear good fruitage, 
When the erring boys are men. 

Have you never seen a grandsire, 

With his eyes aglow with joy, 

Bring to mind some act of kindness 
Something said to him a boy ? 

Or relate some slight or coldness, 

With a brow all clbuded, when 
He said they were too thoughtless 
To remember boys make men ? 


* 3 * 

Let us try to add some pleasures 
To the life of every boy, 

For each child needs tender interest 
In its sorrows and its joys ; 

Call your boys home by your brightness^ 
They’ll avoid a gloomy den, 

And seek for comfort elsewhere— 

And remember, boys make men. 


TALE OF A DOG AND A BE& 

REAT big dog, 

Head upon his toes; 

Tiny little bee 

Settles on his nose. 

Great big dog 
Thinks it is a fly, 

Never says a word, 

Winks mighty sly. 

Tiny little bee 

Tickles doggie’s nose— ) 
Thinks like as not 
’Tis a blooming rose. 

Dog smiles a smile, 

Winks his other eye, 
Chuckles to himself 
How he’ll catch a fly. 

Then he makes a snap 
Mighty quick and spry, 

Gets the little bug 

But doesn’t catch the fly. 

Tiny little bee, 

Alive and looking well, 
Great big dog, 

Mostly gone to swell. 

Moral: 

Dear friends and brothers all, 
Don’t be too fast and free, 
And when you catch a fly, 

Be sure it ain’t a bee. 


WHEN FATHER CARVES THE DUCK. 

E all look on with anxious eyes 
When father carves the duck, 
And mother almost always sighs 
When father carves the duck; 

Then all of us prepare to rise, 








LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


132 

And hold our bibs before our eyes, 

And be prepared for some surprise, 
When father carves the duck. 

He braces up and grabs a fork 
Whene’er he carves a duck, 

And won’t allow a soul to talk, 

Until he’s carved the duck. 

The fork is jabbed into the sides, 

Across the breast the knife he slides, 
While every careful person hides 
From flying chips of duck. 

The platter’s always sure to slip 
When father carves a duck, 

And how it makes the dishes skip l 
Potatoes fly amuck! 

The squash and cabbage leap in space, 
We get some gravy in our face, 

And father mutters Hindoo grace 
Whene’er he carves a duck. 

We then have learned to walk around 
The dining-room and pluck 
From off the window-sills and walls 
Our share of father’s duck. 

While father growls and blows and jaws, 
And swears the knife was full of flaws, 
And mother laughs at him because 
He couldn’t carve a duck. 

E. V. Wright. 


QUESTIONS ABOUT WOMEN. 

For Sunday School Entertainments, suited to a class of girls. 
The teacher asks questions, and scholars should repeat the verse 
and give the reference in answer to every question. 

HAT two men were hidden in a well 
by a woman ? 2 Sam. xvii. 18, 19. 

2. What man asked his servant to 
kill him after he had been mortally wounded 
by a woman ? Judges ix. 53, 54. 

3. What man owed his own life and 
that of his countrymen to a woman ? Esther 
iv. 15, 16. 

4. What king caused a good man to be 
slain because he loved the man’s wife? 2 
Sam. xi. 14, 15. 

5. What man made a vow which invol¬ 
ved the life of his own daughter? Judges 
xi. 30, 31,34. 

6. What man once received most hospi¬ 
table treatment from a woman whom he 
sought, though she knew him not? Gen. 
xxiv. 17-19. 


7. What man was deceived by a woman, 
and then treacherously slain by her ? Judges 
iv. 18, 21. 

8. What man once refused to go to 
battle unless the woman he was addressing 
would conduct it? Judges iv. 8, 9. 

9. What man was saved from death by 
his wife’s pretending he was sick? 1 Sam. 
xix. 12-14. 

10. What man was twice betrayed by 
his wife through avowal of love? Judges 
xiv. 16, 17, and xv. 15-17. 

11. What woman judged Israel ? Judges 
iv. 4, 5. 

12. What woman reigned over Israel 
six years ? 2 Chron. xxii. 10, 12. 


AN EASTER BONNET. 

ITTEK Miss Violet, blooming and sweet, 
Has her new Easter bonnet all trimmed 
and complete ; 

The brim is rich purple with hair-lines of 
black 

It flares at the front and fits close at the 
back, 

There’s a bow-knot of yellow and strings of 
pea green— 

A prettier bonnet has never been seen. 

But Miss Violet’s careful, and keeps it well 
hid 

In her underground bandbox, and holds fast 
the lid ; 

If Easter is early, and March winds are 
cold, 

You’ll not have a glimpse of the purple and 
gold, 

But when Easter comes late, you will see 
the whole place 

Grow bright with Miss Violet’s beauty and 
grace. 

THE MISSIONARY HEN. 

Good for Church or Sunday School 
Entertain ment . 
know a funny little lad— 

We call him careful Ben— 

Who has among his many pets 

A missionary hen. 

“ A missionary hen ! ” you say ; 

“ What sort of fowl is that ?” 








LITTLE FOLKS ’ SPEAKER 


x 33 


Just listen, and you’ll all agree 
That she is called just right. 

Now Benny went to Sunday school, 
And there he heard them tell 

About the children far away 
Who hear no Sabbath bell; 

Who never heard of Jesus’ name 
Nor how He came to earth, 

And gave His life upon the cross 
To save their souls from death. 

He knew they had no pleasant homes, 
No teachers kind and true 

To tell them of a Saviour’s love, 

Or what they ought to do. 

Ben’s pocketbook was very lean, 

The pennies there were few; 

But Bennie’s mother helped him out— 
She gave him work to do. 

He climbed the mow to hunt the eggs, 
He crawled beneath the barn ; 

And his reward was one old hen 
That he might call his own. 

Dear me ! the way that old hen laid 
Was wonderful to view ! 

She seemed to know her business well, 
And sought to mind it too. 

She was a missionary hen, 

For all her eggs he sold 

For pennies for the mission-box— 
They were as good as gold. 

Ben’s pennies now were never scarce 
He did not have to beg ; 

For this old hen was like the goose 
That laid the golden egg. 

She raised a brood of ten fine chicks, 
Ben drafted them all in 

To swell the ranks and revenue, 

Of his missionary hen. 


SONG OF THE RYE. 

At a Temperance or Thanksgiving entertainment, a shock of 
rye may be placed on the stage near a door or curtain, and the 
teacher or director of ceremonies might walk out and say, “What 
is this rye, which we see here, good for ? _ I understand it is the 
choicest ^rain for making whiskey, which destroys so many 


thousand lives and ruins so many homes each year. Why is it 
here on such an occasion as this? ’’ 

Then the boy or girl, with a clear strong voice, speaks from 
behind the scene, so near the shock that it seems as if the voice 
came from the rye itself: “ 1 come here, friends, to defend my 
se. ,r . Man has made me his destroyer, when I am really hi* 
friend.” 

I WAS made to be eaten 
And not to be drank ; 

To be thrashed in a barn, 

Not soaked in a tank. 

I come as a blessing 

When put through a mill, 

As a blight and a curse 
When run through a still. 

Make me up into loaves, 

And the children are fed ; 

But if into drink, 

I’ll starve them instead. 

In bread I’m a servant, 

The eater shall rule; 

In drink I am master, 

The drinker a fool. 


A ROUGH RIDER AT HOHE. 

M y pa’s a great Rough Rider, 

He was one of Teddy’s men, 
And he fought before 
El Caney 

In the trenches and the fen. 

He came home sore and wounded, 
And I wish you’d see him eat; 
He’s got an appetite, I guess, 

Is pretty hard to beat: , 

It’s eat, and eat, and eat, 

And it’s sleep, and sleep, and sleep, 
For ma won’t let us make no noise, 
And so we creep, and creep. 

O, we bade him welcome home. 

And we’re glad, he wasn’t killed— 
But gee ! he’s got an appetite 
That never will be filled. 

He says he caught the fever, 

And he had the ague, too ; 

And he kind o’got the homesicks, 
And the waitin’ made him blue. 
But when he reached the station, 

And we saw him from the gate, 

We were the happiest little kids 
You could find in any state. 




134 


LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


HER PAPA. 

Y papa’s all dressed up to-day; 

He never looked so fine ; 

I thought when first I looked at 
him, 

My papa wasn’t mine. 

He’s got a beautiful new suit— 

The old one was so old— 

It’s blue, with buttons, oh, so bright 
I guess they must be gold. 

And papa’s sort o’ glad and sort 
O’ sad—I wonder why ; 

And ev’ry time she looks at him 
It makes my mamma cry. 

Who’s Uncle Sam ? My papa says 
That he belongs to him ; 

But papa’s joking, ’cause he knows 
My uncle’s name is Jim. 

My papa just belongs to me 
And mamma. And I guess 
The folks are blind who cannot see 
His buttons marked U. S. 

U. S. spells us. He’s ours—and yet 
My mamma can’t help cry. 

And papa tries to smile at me 
And can’t—I wonder why? 


ARMY DIET. 

Y father says ’at sojers is 

The braves’ mens ’at ever was ; 
’At when they hears the shots go 
“ Whiz! ” 

They don’t mind it a bit bekuz 
The whiz means ’at you ain’t got hit, 

An’ so they ist don’t keer a bit. 

Pa says ’at sojers knows a lot, 

An’ they can walk “ ist like one man,” 
An’ aim so well ’at every shot 
Will hit a sneakin’ Spaniard, an’ 

He says they have to eat ‘ ‘ hard tacks ’ ’ 

An’ carry “ raccoons ” on their backs. 

But when I ast him why they do 
He ist busts out a-laughin’, nen 
He says, “ You know a thing or two, 

My son ! ” an’ laughs an’ laughs again, 

An’ says, “ ’At’s ist the very thing— 

The sojers eats the tax, i’ ’ing ! ” 


THE SPANISH WAR ALPHABET 

The following alphabetical arrangement of facts, persons and 
places connected with the Spanish American war may be used as 
a recitation for one, or it may be pleasingly presented by twenty- 
six youngsters each holding the large letter which he represents 
cut out of pasteboard fastened on a staff for carrying. Let each 
speaker step out of line to recite the verse relating to the letter in 
hand. When standing in line the letters should be held plainly in 
view of the audience forming a complete alphabet. 

A is for Admiral, impassionate, cold, 

Who waits for instructions, and does 
as he’s told. 

B stands for Brooklyn, commanded by 
Schley; 

The hottest of liners he takes on the fly, 
C is for Cuba, a tight little isle ; 

To get which we may have to fight quite 
a while. 

D is—yes, Dewey, a teacher of Spanish; 
The first lesson caused all his pupils to 
vanish. 

E stands for Evans, who’s never so happy 
As when there’s a chance to get in some- 
thing “ scrappy.” 

F is for Freedom, which means a great deal 
When your neck has been under a vile 
Spanish heel. 

G is for Germany, whose rude employees 
Should learn better manners; be taught 
to say please. 

H stands for Heroes, on land and on sea, 
Who laid down their lives for their 
friends’ liberty. 

I’s for Insurgents, who holler for aid ; 

Then eat up the rations and loaf in the 
shade. 

J is for Jones, Davy Jones, if you will, 
Whose lockers we’ve twice had occasion 
to fill. 

K stands for King, the young King of 
Spain, 

Who’s been led to regret what happened 
the “ Maine ” 

L is for Long, who has great common- 
sense, 

And in whom the people place all con- 
fidence. 

M’s for McKinley, we welcome the fact 
That b~’s handling this matter with very 
great tact. 

N is for Nelson, Nelson A. Miles, 

On whom we depend to o’ercome Spanish 
wiles. 

O’s the Oquendo, a powerful cruiser; 

But on a long pig-hunt they managed to 
Ipse her. 





LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


i 35 


P’s Porto Rico, the place had some forts, 
BuL no doubt, ere this they’ve been 
knocked out of sorts. 

Q is for Queen, most unhappy of ladies, 
Who fears, perhaps rightly, our visit to 
Cadiz. 

R’s for Reporters; they’re well to the 
fore, 

But they mustn’t imagine they’re run¬ 
ning this war. 

S is for Shafter, a man of great girth, 

In spite of which fact he is proving his 
worth. 

T stands for Toral, whose acted campaign 
Was played for the gallery over in 
Spain. 

U is for Union, the only cement 

To strengthen a State and disruptions 
prevent. 

V’s for Vizcaya ; she made a great show, 
But proving a nuisance, we sent her 
below. 

W is for Wainwright, whose motto must 
be 

‘ ‘ The greater the odds, the better for me.” 

K is the cross that is put against Spain, 
And means that she’s out of the Blue 
Book again. 

V’s for the youngsters that sneaked to the 
front. 

And gave their poor mammas no end of 
a hunt. 

Z's for the zeal that has hall-marked this 
fight; 

This quality wins when stamped upon 
right. 

A. C. Needham. 


THE PRICE HE PAID. 

T eddy came to tell his playmate 
Of a most successful trade. 

“ Ive got just the best knife this 
time— 

Corkscrew, big and little blade, 

Real pearl handle—cost a dollar 
At the store a week ago ; 

But,” and here he winked at Tommy, 

“ Didn’t cost me that, you know. 

“ No, sir ; what I traded for it 
Wasn't worth a dime, I guess. 

Vou have seen the chain Bob gave me— 


Brass all through and nothing less. 
Well, he took a fancy to it, 

When I hinted it was gold, 

And he swapped his jack-knife for it. 

My, but didn’t he get sold ? ” 

“Yes, perhaps,” was Tommy’s answer. 
In a grave and thoughtful way ; 

“ But I think the knife has cost you 
More than I would like to pay.” 

“You don’t think that I got cheated 
“Yes,” was Tommy’s quick reply, 
“You could not afford to do it, 

For you had to tell a lie.” 

“Brooklyn Eagle.” 


JOHNNY’S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS. 

A speech for A droll boy. should be spoken in a deliberate ani 
thoughtful tone as if reflecting. 

G randmothers are very nice folks ; 

They beat all the aunts in creation; 
They let a chap do as he likes 
And don’t worry about education. 

I’m sure I can’t see it at all, 

What a poor fellow ever could do 
For apples and pennies and cakes, 

Without a grandmother or two. 

Grandmothers speak softly to ma’s, 

To let a boy have a good time; 
Sometimes they will whisper, ’tis true, 
T’other way when a boy wants to climb. 

Grandmothers have muffins for tea, 

And pies, a whole row, in the cellar. 

And they’re apt (if they know it in time) 
To make chicken-pies for a feller. 

And if he is bad now and then, 

And maKes a great racketing noise, 

They only look over their specs 

And say, “ Ah, these boys will be boys! 

li Life is only so short at the best: 

Let the children be happy to-day.” 

Then they look for a while at the sky. 

And the hills that are far, far away. 

Quite often, as twilight comes on, 
Grandmothers sing hymns very low 
To themselves, as they rock by the fire, 
About heaven, and when they shall go. 






I 


136 


LITTLE FOLKS’ SPEAKER 


And then a boy, stopping to tnink, 

Will find a hot tear in his eye, 

To know what must come at the last, 

For grandmothers all have to die. 

I wish they could stay here and pray, 

For a boy needs their prayers every 
night. 

Some boys more than others, I s’pose ; 
Such fellers as me need a sight. 

THE FAIRY PEOPLE’S SPINNING. 

or little men and little maids, 

When night is just beginning, 

Oh, then, on quiet hills and glades 
The fairies start their spinning. 

And fast each silver shuttle goes, 

In summer darkness chilly, 

To weave the redness of the rose, 

The whiteness of the lily. 

To count the cunning little elves 
Would surely make you dizzy, 

They do not know their host themselves, 
These wee folk quaint and busy. 

By brook and creek, by isle and shoal, 

By velvet field and valley, 

Dame Nature keeps their muster roll, 

So often as they rally. 

And when the little children wake 
In sunny mornings early, 

They see the lace the fairies make, 

A cobweb tissue pearly. 

It lightly folds o’er branch and stem, 

It shakes with dews a twinkle, 

And flings its cloth of gold and gem 
In many a filmy wrinkle. 

So little men and maids may dream 
While trolls and elves are playing 
Their looms beneath the starlight’s gleam, 
And silent hours are flying. 

Margaret E. Sangster. 


TRUE BRAVERY. 

Dialogue for Boy and Girl of 10 and 12 Years. 
aeph. Good-morning, Cousin Laura ! 
I have a word to say to you. 

Laura. Only a word! It is yet 
half an hour to school-time, and I can listen. 


R. I saw you yesterday speaking to that 
fellow Sterling—Frank Sterling. 

L. Of course I spoke to Frank. What 
then ? Is he too good to be spoken to ? 

R. Far from it. You must give up his 
acquaintance. 

L. Indeed, Cousin Ralph ! I must give 
up his acquaintance ? On what compulsion 
must I ? 

R. If you do not wish to be cut by all 
the boys of the academy, you must cut 
Frank. 

L. Cut! What do you mean by cut ? 

R. By cutting, I mean not recognizing an 
individual. When a boy who knows you 
passes you without speaking or bowing, he 
cuts you. 

L. I thank you for the explanation. 
And I am to understand that I must either 
give up the acquaintance of my friend 
Frank, or submit to the terrible mortifica¬ 
tion of being “cut ’’ by Mr. Ralph Burton 
and his companions ! 

R. Certainly. Frank is a boy of no spirit 
—in short, a coward. 

L. How has-he shown it ? 

R. Why, a dozen boys have dared him to 
fight, and he refuses to do it. 

L. And is your test of courage a willing¬ 
ness to fight ? If so, a bull-dog is the most 
courageous of gentlemen. 

R. I am serious, Laura ; you must give 
him up. Why, the other day Tom Hard¬ 
ing put a chip on a fellow’s hat, and dared 
Frank Sterling to knock it off. But Ster¬ 
ling folded his arms and walked off, while 
we all groaned and hissed. 

L. You did ? You groaned and hissed ? 
Oh, Ralph, I did not believe you had so lit¬ 
tle of the true gentlemen about you ! 

R. What do you mean ? Come, now, I do 
not like that. 

L. Were you at the great fire last night ? 

R. Yes ; Tom Harding and I helped work 
one of the engines. 

L. Did you see that boy go up the 
ladder ? 

R. Yes; wouldn’t I like to be in his 
shoes ! They say the Humane Society are 
going to give him a medal; for he saved a 
baby’s life and no mistake—at the risk of 
his own, too ; everybody said so ; for the 
ladder he went up was all charred and 




% 




LITTLE FOLKS' SPEAKER 


i37 


weakened, and it broke short off before he 
got to the ground. 

L. What boy was it ? 

R. Nobody could find out, but I suppose 
the morning paper will tell us all about it. 

L. I have a copy. Here’s the account: 
“ Great fire; house tenanted by poor famil¬ 
ies ; baby left in one of the upper rooms ; 
ladder much charred ; fireman too heavy to 
go up ; boy came forward, ran up ; seized 
an infant; descended safely; gave it into 
arms of frantic mother.” 

R. Is the boys name mentioned ? 

L. Ay ! Here it is ! Here it is ! And 
who do you think he is ? 

R. Do not keep me in suspense. 

L. Well, then, he’s the boy who was so 
afraid of knocking a chip off your hat— 
Frank Sterling—the coward, as you called 
him. 

R. No ! Let me see the paper for myself. 
There’s the name, sure enough, printed in 
capital letters. 

L . But, cousin, how much more illus¬ 
trious an achievement it would have been 
for him to have knocked a chip off your 
hat! Risking his life to save a chip of a 
baby was a small matter compared with 
that. Can the gratitude of a mother for 
saving her baby make amends for the 
ignominy of being cut by Mr. Tom Harding 
and Mr. Ralph Burton ? 

R. Don’t laugh at me any more, Cousin 
Laura. I see I’ve been stupidly in the 
wrong. Frank Sterling is no coward. I’ll 
ask his pardon this very day. 

L. Will you? My dear Ralph, you will 
in that case show that you are not without 
courage. _ 

GRANDPA’S AVERSION TO SLANG. 

T wasn’t so when I was young— 

We used plain language then ; 

We didn’t speak of “ them galoots,” 
Meanin’ boys or men. 

When speaking of the nice hand-write 

Of Joe, or Tom, or Bill, 

We did it plain—we didn’t say, 

“ He slings a nasty quill.” 

An’ when we saw a girl we liked, 

Who never failed to please, 


We called her pretty, neat and good, 

But not “ about the cheese.” 

Well, when we met a good old friend 
We hadn ’ t lately seen, 

We greeted him, but didn’t say, 

“ Hello, you old sardine !” 

The boys sometimes got mad an’ fit; 

We spoke of kicks and blows ; 

But now they “ whack him on the snoot,* 
Or “ paste him on the nose.” 

Once when a youth was turned away 
By her he held most dear. 

He walked upon his feet—but now 
He “ walks off on his ear.” 

We used to dance when I was young, 

And used to call it so ; 

But now they don’t—they only “ sling 
The light fantastic toe.” 

Of death we spoke in language plain 
That no one did perplex ; 

But in these days one dosen’t die— 

He “ passes in his checks.” 

We praised the man of common sense ; 

“ His judgment’s good,” we said 

But now they say : ‘‘Well, that old plum 
Has he got a level head.” 

It’s rather sad the children now 
Are learnin’ all such talk ; 

They’ve learned to “ chin ” instead of chat, 
An’ “ waltz ” instead of walk. 

To little Harry yesterday— 

My grandchild, aged two— 

I said, ‘‘You love grandpa ?” said he, 
‘‘You bet your boots I do.” 

The children bowed to a stranger once; 

It is no longer so— 

The little girl, as well as boys, 

Now greets you with “ Helloa !” 

Oh, give me back the good old days, 

When both the old and young 

Conversed in plain, old-fashioned words, 
And slang was never ‘‘slung.” 

3. Taylor. 




I 3 « 


LITTLE FOLK'S SPEAKeE 


MEASURING HIS GENEROSITY. 

(See illustration for suggestion as to how to arrange a tableau for 

this selection.) 

ommy Black had three cents 

Which he spent at the candy shop, 
And when he came out he saw two friends 
Whom he invited to stop. 

“ Take a good mouthful,” said Tommy, 

As he opened his candy bag, 

And handed it to Billy Maloney, 

A big-mouthed, greedy wag. 

When Billy got his great mouth full, 

But one stick of candy was left. 

‘’I’ll not trust the other,” thought Tommy, 
“ Lest I should be bereft.” 

So measuring the stick in the middle, 

And clasping it quite tight— 

“ Don’t go over that mark,” said Tommy, 

“ And I'll hold it while you bile ! ” 

Sheppard 


TIDDLE=DE=WINK’S RIDE. 

(See illustration for tableau suggestion.) 

T iddle-de-Wink was little Billy’s sister, 
So good that she never cried ; 

And Billy said she was a baby queen, 
And like a queen should ride. 

“ But what shall we do for horses ? 

And where can I get a chaise ? 

And who will be the footman ? 

Cried Billy with amaze ! 

“ Mother’s watering cans shall be horses, 
With a feather and a broom for tails ; 

And I will make a carriage 

With these boards, my hammer and 
nails.” 

So Tiddle-de-Wink went riding 
With her doll-baby by her side, 

While Billy himself, her footman, 

Sat behind her filled with pride. 



Part II. 


NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 

SELECTIONS 

I N reciting descriptive selections care must be taken to so modulate the voice, govern 
the gestures, and time the rapidity or slowness of speech, to bring the picture— 
and the character portrayed, the thing described—vividly and clearly before the 
imagination of the listener. To do this the reciter should see, feel and act the 
scene in the most natural manner possible. 


BILL MASON’S BRIDE. 

An incident in pioneer life. Bret Harte, the author of this 
poem, more than any other writer has interpreted the early 
life of the far West and embalmed the language and customs 
of the mining camp in literature. 

H alf an hour till train time, sir, 

An’ a fearful dark time, too ; 

Take a look at the switch lights, 
Fetch in a stick when you’re through. 

“ On time ? ’ ’ well, yes, I guess so— 

Left the last station all right— 

She’ll come round the curve a flyin’ ; 

Bill Mason comes up to-night. 

You know Bill ? No ! He’s engineer, 
Been on the road all his life— 

I’ll never forget the morning 
He married his chuck of a wife. 

’Twas the summer the mill hands struck— 
Just off work, every one ; 

They kicked up a row in the village 
And killed old Donevan’s son. 

Bill hadn’t been married mor’n an hour, 

Up comes the message from Kress, 
Orderin’ Bill to go up there, 

And bring down the night express. 

He left his gal in a hurry, 

And went up on number one, 

Thinking of nothing but Mary, 

And the trair ne had to run. 


And Mary sat down by the window 
To wait for the night express ; 

And, sir, if she hadn’t a’ done so, 

She’d been a widow, I guess. 

For it must a’ been nigh midnight 
When the mill hands left the Ridge— 
They come down—the drunken devils ! 

Tore up a rail from the bridge. 

But Mary heard ’em a workin’ 

And guessed there was something wrong 
And in less than fifteen minutes, 

Bill’s train it would be along. 

She couldn’t come here to tell us, 

A mile—it wouldn’t a’ done— 

So she jest grabbed up a lantern, 

And made for the bridge alone. 

Then down came the night express, sir, 
And Bill was makin’ her climb ! 

But Mary held the lantern, 

A-swingin’ it all the time. 

Well ! by Jove ! Bill saw the signal, 

And he stopped the night express, 

And he found his Mary cryin’, 

On the track, in her weddin’ dress ; 
Cryin’ and laughin’ for joy, sir, 

An’ holdin’ on to the light— 

Hello ! here’s the train— good-bye, sir, 

Bill Mason’s on time to-night. 

Bret Harte. 


139 





140 


NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 


LITTLE BREECHES. 

This famous poem was a great surprise to its author. Mr 
Hay deprecated the slang-poems of Bret Harte and wrote this in 
imitation of the latter’s style with a hope of causing a laugh at the 
California poet, and reversing the public favor for his work. But 
instead of turning the literary appetite against Harte’s produc¬ 
tions, Hay was himself made famous and installed in popular 
esteem as a second Bret Harte. 

I don’t go much on religion, 

I never ain’t had no show ; 

But I’ve got a middlin’ tight grip, sir, 

On the handful o’ things I know. 

I don’t pan out on the prophets 

And free-will, and that sort of things 
But I b’lieve in God and the angels, 

Ever since one night last spring. 

I come into town with some turnips, 

And my little Gabe come along— 

No four-year-old in the county 

Could beat him for pretty and strong, 
Peart and chipper and sassy, 

Always ready to swear and fight— 

And I’d learnt him to chaw terbacker 
Jest to keep his milk-teeth white. 

The snow come down like a blanket 
As I passed by Taggart’s store ; 

I went in for a jug of molasses 
And left the team at the door. 

They scared at something and started— 

I heard one little squall 
And hell-to-split over the prairie 
Went team, Little Breeches and all. 

Hell-to-split over the prairie ; 

I was almost froze with skeer; 

But we rousted up some torches, 

And searched for ’em far and near. 

At last we struck hosses and wagon, 
Snowed under a soft white mound, 

Upsot—dead beat—but of little Gabe 
No hide nor hair was found. 

And here all hope soured on me, 

Of my fellow-critters’ aid, 

I jest flopped down on my marrow bones, 
Crotch deep in the snow, and prayed. 

• • • • • 

By this, the torches was played out, 

And me and Isrul Parr 
Went off for some wood to a sheepfold 
That he said was somewhar thar. 

We found it at last, and a little shed 
Where they shut up the lambs at night, 


We looked in and seen them huddled thar, 
So warm and sleepy and white ; 

And thar sot Little Breeches and chirped, 
As peart as ever you see, 

‘ ‘ I want a chaw of terbacker, 

An’ that’s what’s the matter of me.” 

How did he get thar ? Angels ! 

He could never have walked in that storm; 
They jest scooped down and toted him 
To whar it was safe and warm. 

And I think that saving a little child, 

An’ fotching him to his own, 

Is a denied sight better business 
Than loafing around the Throne. 

John Hay. 


DANIEL PERITON’S RIDE. 

On the 31st day of May, I889, one of the greatest disasters 
which ever happened in America was caused by the breaking 
of a dam in the Allegheny mountains, throwing the waters of a large 
lake into the Conemaugh River causing a wall of water to rush 
down the valley sweeping everything in its course. The city of 
Johnstown, Pa., was literally washed away and a thousand of 
people drowned. The following poem describes the ride of a 
daring horseman to warn the fated city of its coming doom, 

A TT day long the river flowed, 

Down by the winding mountain road, 
Leaping and roaring in angry mood, 
At stubborn rocks in its way that stood ; 
Sullen the gleam of its rippled crest, 

Dark was the foam on its yellow breast; 
The dripping bank on either side 
But half-imprisoned the turgid tide. 

By farm and village it quickly sped,— 

The weeping skies bent low overhead,— 
Foaming and rushing and tumbling down 
Into the streets of pent Johnstown, 

Down through the valley of Conemaugh, 
Down from the dam of shale and straw, 

To the granite bridge, where its waters 
pour, 

Through the arches wide, with a dismal 
roar. 

All day long the pitiful tide, 

Babbled of death on the mountain side; 

And all day long with jest and sigh, 

They who were doomed that day to die 
Turned deafened ears to the warning roar 
They had heard so oft and despised before. 

Yet women trembled—the mother’s eyes 
Turned oft to the lowering, woeful skies—- 
And shuddered to think what might befall 



Narrative and descriptive 


141 


Should the flood burst over the earthen 
wall. 

So all day long they went up and down, 
Heedless of peril in doomed Johnstown. 

And all day long in the chilly gloom 
Of a thrifty merchant’s counting room, 

O’er the ledger bent with anxious care 
Old Periton’s only son and heir. 

A commonplace, plodding, industrious 
youth, 

Counting debit and credit the highest 
truth, 

And profit and loss a more honored game 
Than searching for laurels or fighting for 
fame. 

He saw the dark tide as it swept by the 
door, 

But heeded it not till his task was o’er ; 
Then saddled his horse,—a black-pointed 
bay, 

High-stepping, high-blooded, grandson of 
Dismay ; 

Raw-boned and deep-chested, his eyes full 
of fire; 

The temper of Satan—Magog was his sire; 
Arched fetlocks, strong quarters, low knees, 
And lean, bony head—his dam gave him 
these; 

The foal of a racer transformed to a cod 
For the son of the merchant when out of a 
job. 

“ Now I’ll see,” said Dan Periton, mount¬ 
ing the bay, 

‘ ‘ What danger there is of the dam giving 
way ! ’ ’ 

A marvelous sight young Periton saw 
When he rode up the valley of Conemaugh. 
Seventy feet the water fell 
With a roar like angry ocean’s swell! 
Seventy feet from the crumbling crest 
To the rock on which the foundations rest! 
Seventy feet fell the ceasless flow 
Into the boiling gulf below ! 

Dan Periton’s cheek grew pale with fear, 

As the echoes fell on his startled ear, 

And he thought of the weight of the pent- 
up tide, 

That hung on the rifted mountain-side, 

Held by that heap of stone and straw 
O’er the swarming valley of Conemaugh ! 
The raw-boned bay with quivering ears 


Displayed a brute’s instinctive fears, 

Snorted and pawed with flashing eye, 

Seized on the curb and turned to fly! 

Dan Periton tightened his grip on the rein, 

Sat close to the saddle, glanced backward 
again, 

Touched the bay with the spur, then gave 
him his head, 

And down the steep valley they clattering 
sped. 

Then the horse showed his breeding-—the 
close gripping knees 

Felt the strong shoulders working with un¬ 
flagging ease 

As mile after mile, ’neath the high-blooded 
bay, 

The steep mountain turnpike flew backward 
away, 

While with outstretched neck he went gal¬ 
loping down 

With the message of warning to perilled 
Johnstown, 

Past farmhouse and village, while shrilly 
outrang, 

O’er the river’s deep roar and the hoof’s 
iron clang, 

His gallant young rider’s premonitant 
shout, 

‘ ‘ Fly ! Fly to the hills ! The waters are 
out ! ” 

Past Mineral Point there came such a roar 

As never had shaken those mountains 
before ! 

Dan urged the good horse then with word 
and caress : 

’Twould be his last race, what mattered 
distress ? 

A mile farther on and behind him he spied 

The wreck-laden crest of the death-dealing 
tide ! 

Then he plied whip and spur and redoubled 
the shout, 

‘ ‘ To the hills ! To the hills ! The waters 
are out! ” 

Thus horseman and flood-tide came racing it 
down 

The cinder-paved streets of doomed Johns¬ 
town ! 

Daniel Periton knew that his doom was 
nigh, 

Yet never once faltered his clarion cry; 


142 


NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 


The blood ran off from his good steed’s 
side; 

Over him hung the white crest of the tide; 
His hair felt the touch of the eygre’s 
breath ; 

The spray on his cheek was the cold kiss of 
death ; 

Beneath him the horse ’gan to tremble and 
droop— 

He saw the pale rider who sat on the croup ! 
But clear over all rang his last warning 
shout, 

“To the hills! To the hills! For the 
waters are out! ’ * 

Then the tide reared its head and leaped 
vengefully down 

On the horse and his rider in fated Johns¬ 
town ! 

That horse was a hero, so poets still say, 
That brought the good news of the treaty to 
Aix ; 

And the steed is immortal, which carried 
Revere 

Through the echoing night with his mes¬ 
sage of fear; 

And the one that bore Sheridan into the 
fray,. 

From Winchester town, “twenty miles 
away ; ” 

But none of these merits a nobler lay 
Than young Daniel Periton’s raw-boned 
bay 

That raced down the valley of Conemaugh, 
With the tide that rushed through the dam 
of straw, 

Roaring and rushing and tearing down 
On the fated thousands in doomed Johns¬ 
town ! 

In the very track of the eygre’s swoop, 
With Dan in the saddle and Death on the 
croup, 

The foam of his nostrils flew back on the 
wind, 

And mixed with the foam of the billow 
behind. 

A terrible vision the morrow saw 
In the desolate valley of Conemaugh ! 

The river had shrunk to its narrow bed, 

But its way was choked with heaped-up 
dead. 

’Gainst the granite bridge with its arches 

four 


Lay the wreck of a city that delves no 
more; 

And under it all, so the searchers say, 

Stood the sprawling limbs of the gallant 
bay, 

Stiff-cased in the drift of the Conemaugh. 

A goodlier statue man never saw,— 

Dan’s foot on the stirrup his hand on the 
rein ! 

So they shall live in white marble again; 

And ages shall tell, as they gaze on the 
group, 

Of the race that he ran while Death sat on 
the croup. 

Albion W. Tourgke. 


AUNT POLLY GREEN. 

By permission oj the Author, 

T last the cottage was rented 
That vacant had stood so long, 

And the silent gloom of its chambers 
Gave way to mirth and song, 

Ever since the Sheriff sold it, 

And poor Dobson moved away, 

Not a sould had crossed the threshold 
Till the strangers came in May ; 

Then the mould on the steps of marble 
Was scoured and well rinsed off, 

And the packed dead leaves of autumn 
Were thrown from the dry pump trough ; 
And the windows were washed and pol¬ 
ished, 

And the paints and floors were scrubbed, 
While the knobs and the hearthstone brasses 
Were cleaned and brightly rubbed. 

Now right across the turnpike 
Lived old Aunt Polly Green, 

And through the window lattice 
The cottage could be seen. 

There wasn’t a bed or mattress, 

There wasn’t a thing untied, 

Not a box, a trunk, or a bundle, 

But what Aunt Polly spied. 

Such high-toned, stylish neighbors 
The village had never known ; 

And the family had no children— 

The folks were all full-grown ; 

That is, there were two young ladies, 

The husband and his wife, 

“And she,” said old Aunt Polly, 

“ Hain’t seen a bit of life.” 




NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 


*43 


And so Aunt Polly watched them, 

Oft heard the husband say, 

Good-bye, my love,” when leaving 
His wife but for the day ; 

And when he came at sunset 
She saw them eager run, 

Striving the wife and daughters 
To be the favored one; 

And as Aunt Polly, peeping, 

Beheld his warm embrace, 

And noted well the love-light 
That lit the mother’s face, 

She shook her head and muttered, 

“ Them two hain’t long been wed, 

A pity for his first wife, 

Who’s sleepin’ cold and dead. 

“ The poor thing died heart-broken, 
Neglected by that brute, 

Who, soon as she was buried, 

Began his new love-suit, 

I know it,” said Aunt Polly, 

‘ ‘ I see the hull thing through ; 

How kin he so forget her, 

Who always loved him true ? ’ * 

And tears of woman’s pity 
Streamed down Aunt Polly’s face, 

As in her mind she pictured 
The dead wife’s resting-place. 

“ To think,” sobbed good Aunt Polly, 
“ How the daughters, too, behave, 
When their poor and sainted mother 
Fills a lone, forgotten grave.” 

One day when old Aunt Polly 
Sat knitting, almost asleep, 

When the shadows under the woodbine 
Eastward began to creep, 

A rosy-cheeked, brown-eyed maiden 
Walked up to the kitchen door, 

Where never a soul from the cottage 
Had dared to walk before: 

’Tis true that she walked on tip-toe, 
And cautiously peered around; 

But she smiled and courtesied sweetly 
When the one she sought was found : 

“ I rapped on the front door knocker, 
And wondered where you could be, 

So I hope you will pardon my boldness 
In walking around to see.” 

“ Boldness,” said Polly, rising, 

And fixing her glasses straight, 
Boldness ain’t nothin’ now’-days, 


To some, at any rate. 

Sit down in that chair and tell me 
Who ’twas that sent you here ; 

And tell me how long ago, Miss, 

You lost your mother dear.” 

The girl stood still, astonished, 

She knew not what to say, 

She wished herself in the cottage 
That stood across the way. 

“ Now don’t stand there a sulkin’, 

Have a little Christian shame, 

Even if she is a bold one 
That bears your father’s name.” 

“ Madam, or Miss,” said the maiden, 

“ There’s surely a great mistake, 

Or else I must be dreaming—” 

“ No you hain’t, you’re wide awake; 

I blame your bold stepmother 
For learnin’ you this deceit; 

Now answer me true the question 
Which again I must repeat— 

When did you lose your mother, 

And of what did the poor child die, 

And wasn’t her pale face pinched like. 
And didn’t she often sigh ? 

Horrors ! jist look at the heathen, 

A laughin’ right in my face, 

When speakin’ about her mother, 

In her last lone restin’ place.’ 

‘‘You say you were sent to invite me 
To the cottage over the way, 

That to-night’s the celebration 
Of your mother’s marriage day, 

And this is the silver weddin’ 

Of that young and frisky thing, 

That for five and twenty summers 
She’s wore her plain gold ring ? 

Well, looks they are deceivin’, 

Why her hair’s not one mite gray, 

And her cheek is like a lily 
Gathered for Easter day. 

An’ will I come? Yes, dearie * 

But let me your pardon crave, 

For I’ve been like an old fool weepin’, 
A-mournin’ an empty grave.” 

Geo. M. Vickers. 


POMPEII. 

nd lo, a voice from Italy ! It comes like 
the stirring of the breeze from the 
mountains ! It floats in majesty like 




144 


Narrative and descriptive 


the echo of the thunder! It breathes 
solemnity like a sound from the tombs! 
Let the nations hearken ; for the slumber of 
ages is broken, and the buried voice of anti¬ 
quity speaks again from the gray ruins of 
Pompeii. 

Roll back the tide of eighteen hundred 
years. At the foot of the vine-clad Vesu¬ 
vius stands a royal city ; the stately Roman 
walks its lordly streets, or banquets in the 
palaces of its splendor. The bustle of busied 
thousands is there; you may hear it along 
thronged quays ; it raises from the amphi¬ 
theatre and the forum. It is the home of 
luxury, of gayety and of joy. There toged 
royaliiy drowns itself in dissipation; the 
lion roars over the martyred Christian ; and 
the bleeding gladiator dies at the beck of 
applauding spectators. It is a careless, a 
dreaming, a devoted city. 

There is a blackness in the horizon, and 
the earthquake is rioting in the bowels of 
the mountain ! Hark ! a roar, a crash ! and 
the very foundations of the eternal hills are 
belched forth in a sea of fire ! Woe for that 
fated city ! The torrent comes surging like 
the mad ocean; it boils above wall and 
tower, palace and fountain, and Pompeii is 
a city of tombs ! 

Ages rollon ; silence, darkness, and deso¬ 
lation are in the halls of buried grandeur. 
The forum is voiceless; and the pompous 
mansions are tenanted by skeletons ! Lo ! 
other generations live above the dust of 
long lost glory; and the slumber of the 
dreamless city is forgotten. 

Pompeii beholds a resurrection ! As sum¬ 
moned by the blast of the first trumpet, she 
hath shaken from her beauty the ashes of 
centuries, and once more looks forth upon 
the world, sullied and sombre, but interest¬ 
ing still. Again upon her arches, her 
courts, and her colonnades the sun lingers 
in splendor, but not as erst, when the 
reflected lustre from her marbles dazzled 
like the glory of his own true beam. 

There, in their gloomy boldness, stand her 
palaces, but the song of carousal is hushed 
forever. You may behold the places of her 
fountains, but you will hear no murmur; 
they are as the water-courses of the desert. 
There, too, are her gardens ; but the bar¬ 
renness of long antiquity is theirs. You 


may stand in her amphitheater, and you 
shall read utter desolation on its bare and 
dilapidated walls. 

Pompeii! moldering relic of a former 
world ! Strange redemption from the sepul¬ 
cher ! How vivid are the classic memories 
that cluster around thee ! Thy loneliness 
is rife with tongues; for the shadows of the 
mighty are thy sojourners ! Man walks thy 
desolated and forsaken streets, and is lost in 
his dreams of other days. 

He converses with the genius of the past, 
and the Roman stands as freshly recalled as 
before the billow of lava had stiffened above 
him. A Pliny, a Sallust, a Trajan, are in 
his musing, and he visits their very homes. 
Venerable and eternal city ! The storied 
urn to a nation’s memory ! A disentombed 
and risen witness for the dead ! Every stone 
of thee is consecrated and immortal. Rome 
was; Thebes was ; Sparta was ; thou wast, 
and art still. No Goth or Vandal thun¬ 
dered at thy gates, or reveled in thy spoil. 

Man marred not thy magnificence. Thou 
wast scathed by the finger of Him who 
alone knew the depth of thy violence and 
crime. Babylon of Italy ! Thy doom was 
not revealed to thee. No prophet was there, 
when thy towers were tottering and the 
ashy darkness obscured thy horizon, to con¬ 
strue the warning. The wrath of God was 
upon thee heavily ; in the volcano was the 
“ hiding, of His power;” and, like thine 
ancient sisters of the plain, thy judgment was 
sealed in fire! 


THE FIRE=FIEND. 

This dramatic selection affords rare opportunity for manifest¬ 
ing changing and excited emotion. In the description of the fire 
the delivery should be rapid. 

H ark! hark! o’er the city, alarm bells 
ring out, 

Cling, clang 1 “ fire, fire ! ” each tone 
seems to shout. 

“ Come on,” cries a voice, “ there is work 
to be done,” 

So forth for our steamer and horse-cart we 
run ! 

Here they are! Roll them out! now quick, 
let us fly! 

“ Clear the track ! turn out! fire I fire ! ” is 
our cry. 

“ Ha! ha ! here we are! Yes, the Fire-Fiend 
is out I 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 


Just see the smoke roll, while the flames leap 
about; 

Unroll the hose, quick : pull to the tank, 
boys ; 

Make fast the steamer now ! listen to its 
noise! 

There go the water-jets high in the air ! 

Dash them on ! higher ! higher ! flames 
everywhere.” 

But stay ! a wild cry rises loud o’er the din, 

A woman is shrieking, “ my child sleeps 
within, 

Help ! help ! can ye stand, oh men, here and 
see 

A little child die, yet do nothing for me ? 

She burns ! she is lost!” shrieks the mother, 
half wild, 

‘ ‘ Are ye men ? have ye hearts ? then help 
my poor child.” 

“ Be calm,” cried a fireman, young, sturdy 
and brave, 

‘ 1 1 die in yon flames, or your child I will save! 

Ho ! ladders, quick ! quick ! hoist them up 
to the wall,— 

Now, steady ! God help me ! Oh, what if I 
fall? ” 

One glance up to heaven, one short prayer 
he spoke, 

Sprang up, and was hidden by darkness and 
smoke. 

On her knees sank the mother, lips moving 
'in prayer, 

While fear sent a thrill through the crowd 
gathered there. 

Breathless silence prevailed, none speaking 
a word, 

While puffs from the engine alone could be 
heard. 

All eyes remained fixed on the window 
above, 

Where last stood a hero whom angels might 
love. 

“ Will he ever come back ?” No sound in 
reply 

Save the Fire-Fiend’s laugh, as he leaps up so 
high, 

Catching windows and doors, woodwork, 
lintel and all, 

While “burn with all speed,” seems his 
conquering call, 
io H 


*45 

“ Spare nothing, speed onward ! In this I 
delight! 

Two victims are mine ! I am king here to¬ 
night.” 

Not so ! Oh, not so ! for ’mid joy-speaking 
cheers, 

A fireman with child on the ladder appears; 

Blackened, yet safe, he descends to the 
ground, 

Gives the babe to its mother, then looks 
calmly round, 

“ Thank God, that he gave me the strength 
this to do ! ” 

“We will,” cried a voice, “but we also 
thank you ! ’ ’ 

The Fire-Fiend rushed by on his merciless 
path ; 

At losing his victims he seemed full of 
wrath ; 

He sputtered and hissed his unceasing re¬ 
proof, 

Until with a crash, inward tumbled the roof. 

Then, ’mid water and work, ’mid laughter 
and shout, 

The Fiend slunk away, and the fire was out. 

Jessie; Geenn. 


CHANGING COLOR. 

Suitable to home, Sunday school or church entertainment. 

O H, every one was sorry for Ned ! 

“It’s a perfect shame,” so the people 
said; 

“And who was Ned?” Why, don’t you 
know ? 

Ned was the deacon’s daughter’s beau,— 
Honest and manly, hard to beat, 

Five foot ten in his stocking feet. 

Bess was the sweetest girl in the place. 
With a soul as fair as her winsome face; 
The deacon’s daughter, kind and gay, 

And used to having her own sweet way. 
Now, two good people may agree,— 

The deacon, Bess, and Ned make three . 

Old Deacon Green was a “moneyed man;’' 
His motto was: ‘ ‘ Get and keep if you can. ’ 
“ Honest in all his dealings ? ” Yes, 
Honest as you, or Ned, or Bess ; 

But charity had left his creed, 

And he was stingy in thought and deed. 



Narrative and descriptive 


146 

‘ ‘ I tell you no man borrows from me; 

If he wants any help let him find it, ’ ’ said he ; 
“ And Bess, my girl, hear what I say, 

You send that shiftless Ned away ! 

I have no use for the lazy dunce, 

I heard that he borrowed a dollar once. 

“ Now when / borrow—you hear me, 
Bess ?— 

Then you may purchase your wedding- 
dress. 

Until that time Ned Brown, ou see, 

Must be a minus quantity.” 

And Bessie murmured soft arm low : 
‘‘That’s something Ned would like to 
know.” 

That night the moon and the silent stars 
Saw two young heads near the meadow 
bars, 

And heard Bess say: “I think to-morrow 
Some one will really have to borrow ! ’ ’ 
Two hearts were happier, I know, 

Because the new moon told me so. 

Next morn, Bess seized her shopping-bag, 
Harnessed the deacon’s corpulent nag, 

And drove to town ; I wonder why 
She chose that early hour to buy ! 

A small boy with a freckled face 
Was standing near the market-place ; 

He waved his cap when he saw sweet Bess, 
As fair as a flower, in her muslin dress. 

“ Good-morning, Cousin Bob,” said she ; 
“You’re just the boy I want to see 1 

“ I’ll give all you ask, and more, 

If you will ride to father’s door, 

And say to him, ‘ Bess is in town, 

Going to marry that Ned Brown.* 

After you tell him, drive away, 

No matter what he has to say.” 

Imagine the deacon, if you can ! 

Poor Bob ne’er saw an uglier man 
Than Deacon Green, that summer day 
He watched his old nag trot away; 

The words he used are hard to spell, 

And really wouldn’t do to tell. 

“ There is Bess in Blickingham town, 
Ready to marry that scamp, Brown; 

I can reach her as best I may— 

Even my old nag’s gone to-day ! 


The parson would lend me—I must borrow. 
For Bess may not be there to-morrow. ” 

The parson lent him his dapple gray, 

And he made for the town without delay 
There stood Bess in the market-place, 

And near her the determined face 
Of our friend Brown was plainly seen— 

A sight to madden Deacon Green. 

The young folks entered the old town-hall. 
The scene of many a county ball, 

And Bessie’s father walked in, too ; 

I wonder what he meant to do ? 

This much I know—the words then said 
Came chiefly from the lips of Ned. 

“ Deacon Green, did you borrow the gray 
That brought you to Blickingham town 
to-day ? 

You did ? Then Bess shall be mv wife. 
And here’s an end to all our stride ! ” 

Said Bess: “I knew dear father meant 
To give his full and free consent.” 

“ But,” gasped the deacon, “ I never said 
My daughter could marry you, Ned ! ” 

“ I heard you say,” cried blue-eyed Bess, 

“ That I might purchase my wedding dress 
When you borrowed from any one. 

And now, you see, the deed is done ! 

“ It can’t be helped ; and, father dear, 
Forgive us, won’t you, low and here? ” 
The deacon frowned, but chuckled too : 

“ That’s all you’ve left for me to do ! 
You’re full of business, a i I guess 
Your head is pretty level, Less; 

You took your father’s nag away, 

And made him toe the mark to-day; 

And though I’m Green, ere we leave town. 
My only daughter shall be Brown ! ” 

Hattie G. Canfield. 


LITTLE flEQ AND I. 

A sailor's story. Imitate the sailor style of Speech and 
manner. 

Y ou asked me, mates, to spin a yarn, 
before we go below ; 

Well, as the night is calm and fair, 
and no chance for a blow, 

I’ll give one,— a story true as ever yet was 
told— 

For, mates, I wouldn’t lie about the dead; 
no, not for gold. 



NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE 


The story’s of a maid and lad, who loved 
in days gone by : 

The maiden was Meg Anderson, the lad, 
messmates, was I. 

A neater, trimmer craft than Meg was very 
hard to find ; 

Why, she could climb a hill and make five 
knots agin the wind ; 
nd as for lamin’, hulks*and spars! I’ve 
often heard it said 

That she could give the scholars points and 
then come out ahead. 

The old school-master used to say, and, 
mates, it made me cry, 

That the smartest there was little Meg ; the 
greatest dunce was I. 

But what cared I for lamin’ then, while 
she was by my side ; 

For, though a lad, I loved her, mates, and 
for her would have died ; 

And she loved me, the little lass, and often 
have I smiled 

When she said, “I’ll be your little wife,” 
’twas the prattle of a child. 

For there lay a gulf between us, mates, 
with the waters running high ; 

On one side stood Meg Anderson, on the 
other side stood I. 

Meg’s fortune was twelve ships at sea and 
houses on the land ; 

' While mine—why, mates, you might have 
held my fortune in your hand. 

Her father owned a vast domain for miles 
along the shore; 

My father owned a fishing-smack, a hut, 
and nothing more; 

I knew that Meg I ne’er could win, no 
matter how I’d try, 

For on a couch of down lay she, on a bed 
of straw lay I. 

f I never thought of leaving Meg, or Meg of 
leaving me, 

For we were young, and never dreamed 
that I should go to sea, 

Till one bright morning father said : 
“There’s a whale-ship in the bay: 

I want you, Bill, to make a cruise—you go 
aboard to-day.” 

Well, mates, in two weeks from that time I 
bade them all good-bye, 


147 

While on the dock stood little Meg, and on 
the deck stood I. 

I saw her oft before we sailed, whene’er I 
came on shore, 

And she would say: “Bill, when you’re 
gone, I’ll love you more and more ; 
And I promise to be true to you through 
all the coming years.” 

But while she spoke her bright blue eyes 
were filled with pearly tears. 

Then, as I whispered words of hope and 
kissed her eyelids dry, 

Her last words were: “God speed you, 
Bill!” so parted Meg and I. 

Well, mates, we cruised for four long years, 
till at last, one summer’s day, 

Our good ship, the “ Minerva,” cast anchor 
in the bay 

Oh, how my heart beat high with hope, as 
I saw her home once more, 

And on the pier stood hundreds, to welcome 
us ashore; 

But my heart sank down within me as 1 
gazed with anxious eye— 

No little Meg stood on the dock, as on 
the deck stood I. 

Why, mates, it nearly broke my heart when 
I went ashore that day, 

For they told me little Meg had wed, while 
I was far away. 

They told me, too, they forced her to’t— 
and wrecked her fair young life— 

Just think, messmates, a child in years, to 
be an old man’s wife. 

But her father said it must be so, and what 
could she reply ? 

For she was only just sixteen—just twenty- 
one was I. 

Well, mates, a few short years from then— 
perhaps it may be four— 

One blustering night Jack Glinn and I were 
rowing to the shore, 

When right ahead we saw a sight that made 
us hold our breath— 

There floating in the pale moonlight was a 
woman cold in death. 

I raised her up : 0 I 1 , God, messmates, that 
I had passed her by ! 

For in the bay lay little Meg, and over her 
stood I. C. T. Murphy. 




Part III. 

PATHETIC SELECTIONS 

V 

P ATHOS is that quality, attribute, or element of the human mind which awakens the 
gentle emotions of compassion and sympathy, producing a fellow feeling both 
tender and sorrowful. It is a question, as to which affords mankind the greater 
pleasure, pathos or mirth. Poe declared, that “ all true pleasure must have in it the 
vein of sadness ” There is no doubt that it is sometimes “better to go to the house of 
mourning, than to the house of feasting.” 


POOR LITTLE JIM. 

Suitable for Church Entertainment. 

This selection may be made very effective by having two or 
three tableaux scenes presented in the back ground during the 
recitation (i. mother sitting by the bed of sick child ; 2. kneeling 
beside the bed in attitude of prayer and then looking at the child 
as he is supposed to speak; 3. father by bed with candle; 4. 
mother and father kneeling by bed). 

T he cottage was a thatched one, the out¬ 
side old and mean, 

But all within that little cot was 
wondrous neat and clean. 

The night was dark and stormy, the wind 
was howling wild, 

As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed 
of her child : 

A little worn-out creature, his once bright 
eyes grown dim : 

It was a collier’s wife and child, they called 
him little Jim. 

And oh ! to see the briny tears fast hurrying 
down her cheek, 

As she offered up the prayer, in thought, 
she was afraid to speak, 

Test she might waken one she loved far bet¬ 
ter than her life; 

For she had all a mother’s heart, had that 
poor collier’s wife. 

With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside 
the sufferer’s bed, 

And prays that He would spare her boy, 
and take herself instead. 

She gets her answer from the child : soft 
fall the words from him : 

148 


“ Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon 
little Jim, 

I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! 
I am so dry, 

Just moisten poor Jim’s lips again, and, 
mother, don’t you cry, 

With gentle, trembling haste she held the 
liquid to his lip ; 

He smiled to thank her as he took each 
little, tiny sip ; 

“ Tell father, when he comes from work, I 
said good-night to him, 

And, mother, now I’ll go to sleep.” Alas ! 
poor little Jim ! 

She knew that he was dying ; that the child 
she loved so dear 

He uttered the last words she might ever 
hope to hear: 

The cottage door is opened, the collier’s 
step is heard, 

The father and the mother meet, yet neither 
speaks a word. 

He felt that all was over, he knew his child 
was dead, 

He took the candle in his hand and walked 
toward the bed ; 

His quivering lips gave token of the grief 
he’d fain conceal, 

And see, his wife has joined him—the 
stricken couple kneel : 

With hearts bowed down by sadness, they 
humbly ask of Him, 

In heaven once more to meet again their 
own poor little Jim. 



PATHETIC READINGS 


J 49 


“LIMPY TIM.” 

A Pathetic Selectio?i Easy to Recite. 
bout the big post-office door 
Some boys were selling news, 

While others earned their slender 
store 

By shining people’s shoes. 

They were surprised the other day 
By seeing “ Limpy Tim ” 

Approach in such a solemn way 
That they all stared at him. 

“ Say, boys, I want to sell my kit; 

Two brushes, blacking-pot 
And good stout box—the whole outfit; 

A quarter buys the lot.” 

“ Goin’ away ?” cried one. “O no,” 
Tim answered, “ not to-day ; 

But I do want a quarter so, 

And I want it right away.” 

The kit was sold, the price was paid, 
When Tim an office sought 
For daily papers ; down he laid 
The money he had brought. 

“ I guess, if you’ll lend me a pen, 

I’ll write myself,” he sighed ; 

With slowly moving fingers then 
He wrote this notice, ” died — 

Of scarlet fever — Litul Ted — 

Aged three—gon up to heven — 

One brother left to mourn hi?n dead — 
Funeral to-morrow — eleven . 

“ Was it your brother ? ” asked the man 
Who took the notice in ; 

Tim tried to hide it, but began 
To quiver at the chin. 

The more he sought himself to brace 
The stronger grew his grief; 

Big tears came rolling down his face, 

To give his heart relief. 

By selling out—my kit—I found— 
That quarter—’ ’ he replied ; 

«< B—but he had his arms around 
My neck—when he d—died.” 

im hurried home, but soon the news 
Among the boys was spread ; 


They held short, quiet interviews 
Which straight to action led. 

He had been home an hour, not more, 
When one with naked feet 
Laid down Tim’s kit outside his door, 
With flowers white and sweet. 

Each little fellow took a part, 

His penny freely gave 
To soothe the burdened brother’s heart, 
And deck the baby’s grave. 

Those flowers have fac ed since that day, 
The boys are growing men, 

But the good God will yet repay 
The deed He witnessed then. 

The light which blessed poor “Limpy 
Tim” 

Decended from above— 

A ladder leading back to Him 
Whose Christian name is love. 

T. Harley. 


TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Composed by Burns, in September, 1789, on the anniversary 
of the day on which he heard of the death of his early love, 
Mary Campbell. 

T hou lingering star, with lessening ray, 
That lov’st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher’st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 

O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 

See’st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

That sacred hour can I forget— 

Can I forget the hallowed grove, 

Where by the winding Ayr we met 
To live one day of parting love ? 

Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past; 
Thy image at our last embrace ; 

Ah ! little thought we ’t was our last! 

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, 
O’erhung with wild woods, thickening 
green ; 

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Twined amorous round the raptured 
scene ; 




PATHETIC READINGS 


150 

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest, 

The birds sang love on every spray— 

Till soon, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclaimed the speed of winged day. 

Still o’er these scenes my memory wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care ! 

Time but the impression stronger makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary ! dear departed shade 1 
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See’st thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hears’t thou the groans that rend his 
breast ? 

Robert Burns. 


THE DYING BOY. 

To be delivered in a natural sympathetic manner. 

A friend of mine, seeking for objects of 
charity, reached the upper room of a 
tenement house. It was vacant. He 
saw a ladder pushed through a hole in the 
ceiling. Thinking that perhaps some poor 
creature had crept up there, he climbed the 
ladder, drew himself through the hole, and 
found himself under the rafters. There was 
no light but that which came through a 
bull’s eye in the place of a tile, Soon he 
saw a heap of chips and shavings, and on 
them lay a boy about ten years old. 

“ Boy, what are you doing here ?” 

“ Hush, don’t tell anybody, please, sir.” 
“ What are you doing here ?” 

“ Hush, please don’t tell anybody, sir; 
I’m a-hiding.” 

“ What are you hiding for ?” 

“ Don’t tell anybody, please, sir.” 

“ Where’s your mother ?” 

“ Please, sir, mother’s dead.” 

“ Where’s your father?” 

* * Hush, don ’ t tell him. But look here. ’ ’ 
He turned himself on his face, and through 
the rags of his jacket and shirt my friend 
saw that the boy’s flesh was terribly bruised, 
and his skin was broken. 

“ Why, my boy, who beat you like 
that?” 

“ Father did, sir.” 

“ What did he beat you for ?” 

“ Father got drunk, sir, and beat me ’cos 
I wouldn’t steal.” 

“ Did yoru ever steal ?” 


“ Yes, sir; I was a street-thief once.” 

44 And why won’t you steal anymore ?” 

4 ‘ Please, sir, I went to the mission 
school, and they told me there of God and 
of heaven, and of Jesus, and they taught 
me, 4 Thou shalt not steal,’ and I’ll never 
steal again, if my father kills me for it. 
But please don’t tell him.” 

“ My boy, you musn’t stay here. You’ll 
die. Now you wait patiently here for a 
little time, I’m going away to see a lady. 
We will get a better place for you than 
this.” 

“ Thank you; sir; but please, sir, would 
you like to hear me sing my little hymn ”? 

Bruised, battered, forlorn, friendless, 
motherless, hiding from an infuriated father, 
he had a little hymn to sing. 

“ Yes, I will hear you sing your little 
hymn.” 

He raised himself on his elbow and then 
sang : 

“ Gentle Jesus, meek and mild. 

Look upon a little child. 

Pity my simplicity. 

Suffer me to come to Thee. 

“ Fain would I to Thee be brought 
Gracious Lord, forbid it not: 

In the kingdom of Thy grace, 

Give a little child a place." 

44 That’s the little hymn, sir. Goodbye.”* 

The gentleman hurried away for restora¬ 
tives and help, came back again in less than 
two hours, and climbed the ladder. There 
were the chips, there were the shavings, and 
there was the little motherless boy with one 
hand by his side and the other tucked in his 
bosom— dead. Oh, I thank God that He 
who said, “Suffer little children to come 
unto Me,” did not say “ respectable chil¬ 
dren,” or “ well-educated children.” No, 
He sends His angels into the homes of pov¬ 
erty and sin and crime, where you do not 
like to go, and brings out His redeemed 
ones, and they are as stars in the crown of 
rejoicing to those who have been instru¬ 
mental in enlightening their darkness. 

John B. Gough. 


THE SINGER’S CLIMAX. 

4 4 Tf you want to hear ‘ Annie Laurie ’ 
X sung come to my house to-night,” 
said a man to his friend. “We 
have a love-lorn fellow in the village who 




PATHETIC READINGS 


<vas sadly wrecked by the refusal of a young 
girl to whom he had been paying attention 
for a year or more. It is seldom he will 
attempt the song, but when he does I tell 
you he draws tears from eyes unused to 
weeping.’ ’ 

A small select party had assembled in a 
pleasant parlor, and were gayly chatting and 
laughing when a tall young man entered 
whose peculiar face and air instantly arrested 
attention. He was very pale, with that 
clear, vivid complexion which dark-haired 
consumptives so often have ; his locks were 
as black as jet, and hung profusely upon a 
square white collar; his eyes were very 
large and spiritual, and his brow was such 
a one as a poet should have. But for a cer¬ 
tain wandering look, a casual observer 
would have pronounced him a man ot 
uncommon intellectual powers. The words 
“poor fellow,” and “ how sad he looks” 
went the rounds, as he came forward, bowed 
to the company, and took his seat. One or 
two thoughtless girls laughed as they whis¬ 
pered that he was “ love-cracked,” but the 
rest of the company treated him with respect¬ 
ful deference. 

It was late in the evening when singing 
was proposed, and to ask him to sing ‘ ‘ Annie 
Laurie ” was a task of uncommon delicacy. 
One song after another was sung, and at last 
that one was named. At its mention the 
young man grew deadly pale, but he did not 
speak ; he seemed instantly to be lost in 
reverie 

‘ ‘ The name of the girl who treated him so 
badly was Annie ” said a lady, whispering 
to the new guest, c ‘ but oh ! I wish he would 
sing it; nobody else can do it justice. ” 

“No one dares to sing 4 Annie Laurie ’ 
before you Charles,” said an elderly lady. 
* * Would it be too much for me to ask you 
to favor the company with it? ” she added, 
timidly. 

He did not reply for a moment; his lip 
quivered, and then looking up as if he saw 
a spiritual presence, he began. Every soul 
was hushed,—it seemed as if his voice were 
the voice of an angel. The tones vibra¬ 
ted through nerve and pulse and heart, and 
made one shiver with the pathos of his feel¬ 
ing ; never was heard melody in a human 


151 

voice like that—so plaintive, so soulful, so 
tender and earnest. 

He sat with his head thrown back his eyes 
half closed, the locks of dark hair glistening 
against his pale temple, his fine throat 
swelling with the rich tones, his hands 
lightly folded before him, and as he sung 

' And ’twas there that Annie Laurie 
Gave me her promise true." 

it seemed as if he shook from head to foot 
with emotion. Many a lip trembled, and 
there was no jesting, no laughing, but 
instead, tears in more than one eye. 

And on he sung and on, holding every one 
in rapt attention, till he came to the last 
verse: 

** Like dew on the gowan lying 
Is the fa* of her fairy feet. 

And like winds in summer sighing 
Her voice is low and sweet. 

Her voice is low and sweet. 

And she’s a’ the world to me—" 

He paused before he added, 

“ And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
I'll lay me down and die," 

There was a long and solemn pause. 
The black locks seemed to grow blacker—• 
the white temples whiter—almost imper¬ 
ceptibly the head kept falling back—the 
eyes were close shut. One glanced at 
another—all seemed awe-struck—till the 
same person who had urged him to sing laid 
her hand gently on his shoulder, saying : 

‘ ‘ Charles ! Charles 1 ’ ’ 

Then came a hush—a thrill of horror crept 
through every frame—the poor, tried heart 
had ceased to beat. Charles, the love-be¬ 
trayed, was dead. 


THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 

The pathos of this selection must appear in the hopeless 
grief of the raving woman. The moods must be carefully 
studied and portrayed by the speaker. 

S tay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe ! 

He is not mad who kneels to thee; 
For what I’m now too well I know, 
And what I was—and what should be! 
I’ll rave no more in proud despair— 

My language shall be mild, though sad ; 
But yet I’ll firmly, truly swear, 

I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

My tyrant foes have forged the tale, 

Which chains me in this dismal cell! 

My fate unknown my friends bewail— 



152 


PATHETIC READINGS 


Q J jailer, haste that fate to tell! 

O ! haste my father’s heart to cheer; 

His heart at once ’t will grieve and glad, 
To know, though chained a captive here, 

I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

He smiles in scorn—he turns the key— 

He quits the grate—I knelt in vain ! 

His glimmering lamp still, still I see— 

’T is gone—and all is gloom again ! 

Cold, bitter cold !—no warmth, no light! 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ! 

Yet here I’m chained, this freezing night, 
Although not mad ! no, no—not mad ! 

'T is sure some dream—some vision vain ! 

What! I—the child of rank and wealth— 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, 
Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, 

Which never more my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how burns my head ! 
But ’t is not mad ! it is not mad ! 

Hast thou, my child, forgot e’er this 
A parent’s face, a parent’s tongue? 

I 11 ne’er forget thy parting kiss, 

Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! 
Nor how with me you 3ued to stay, 

Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; 

Nor how—I’ll drive such thoughts away— 
They’ll make me mad! they’ll make 
me mad! 

Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ' 

Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they 
shone! 

None ever saw a lovelier child ! 

And art thou now for ever gone ? 

And must I never see thee more, 

My pretty, gracious, noble lad ?— 

I will be free ! Unbar the door ! 

I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

O, hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ! 
He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! 

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! 
Help ! help !—he’s gone ! O, fearful woe, 
Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, 

I am not mad—but soon shall be ! 

Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, 
Mark how yon demon’s eyeballs glare ! 


He sees me—now, with dreadful shriek, 

He whirls a serpent high in air! 

Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 
Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! 
Your task is done—I’m mad ! I’m mad ! 

M. G. Lewis. 


ON THE OTHER TRAIN. 

i | ''here Simmons,you blockhead! Why 
JL didn’t you trot that old woman 
aboard her train ? She’ll have to 
wait here now until 1.05 A. M.” 

“ You didn’t tell me.” 

“ Yes, I did tell you. ’Twas only your 
confounded stupid carelessness.” 

‘ ‘ She ! you fool ! What else could you 
expect of her? Probably she hasn’t any 
wit; besides, she isn’t'bound on a very 
jolly journey—got a pass up the road to 
the poor-house. I’ll go and tell her, and 
if you forget her to-night, see if I don’t 
make mince-meat of you ! ” 

‘‘ You’ve missed your train, marm.” 

A trembling hand raised a faded black 
veil and revealed the sweetest old face I 
ever saw. 

“ Never mind,” said a quivering voice. 

“ Tis only three o’clock now, you’ll 
nave to wait until the night train, which 
doesn’t go up until 1.05.” 

“ Very well, sir, I can wait.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like to go to some hotel ? 
Simmons will show you the way.” 

“ No, thank you, sir. One place is as 
good as another to me. Besides, I haven’t 
any money.” 

‘‘Very well,” said the agent, turning 
away indifferently. “Simmons will tell 
you when it’s time.” 

All the afternoon she sat there so quiet 
that I thought sometimes she must be 
asleep, but when I looked more closely I 
could see every once in a while a great tear 
rolling down her cheek, which she would 
wipe away hastily with her cotton handker¬ 
chief. 

The depot was crowded, and all was 
bustle and hurry until the 9.50 train going 
east; then every passenger left except the 
old lady. It is very rare, indeed, that any 



PATHETIC READINGS 


153 


one takes the night express, and almost 
always after I have struck ten, the depot 
becomes silent and empty. 

The fire had gone down—it was a cold 
night, and the wind howled dismally out¬ 
side. The lamps grew dim and flared, 
casting weird shadows upon the wall. By 
and by I heard a smothered sob from the 
corner, then another. I looked in that 
direction. She had risen from her seat, 
and oh ! the look of agony on the poor, 
pinched face ! 

“ I can’t believe it,” she sobbed, wring¬ 
ing her thin, white hands. “ Oh ! I can’t 
believe it! My babies ! my babies! how 
often have I held them in my arms and 
kissed them ; and how often they used to 
say back to me, * Ise love you mamma,’ 
and now, oh God, they’re against me. 
Where am I going? To the poor-house! 
No ! no ! no ! I cannot! I will not! Oh, 
the disgrace ! ” and sinking upon her knees 
she sobbed out in prayer: “ O, God, spare 
me this disgrace—spare me ! take me to 
thyself, dear Lord ! ’ ’ 

The wind rose higher and swept through 
the crevices, icy cold. How it moaned and 
seemed to sob like something human that is 
hurt! I began to shake, but the kneeling 
figure never stirred. The thin shawl had 
dropped from her shoulders unheeded. 
Simmons turned over and drew his heavy 
blanket more closely about him. 

Oh, how cold ! Only one lamp remained 
burning dimly ; the other two had gone out 
for want of oil. I could hardly see it was 
so dark. 

At last she became quieter and ceased to 
moan. Then I grew drowsy, and kind of 
lost the run of things after I had struck 
twelve, when some one entered the depot 
with a bright light. I started up. It was 
the brightest light I ever saw, and seemed 
to fill the room full of glory. I could see 
’twas a man. He walked to the kneeling 
figure and touched her upon the shoulder. 
She started up and turned her face wildly 
around. I heard him say : 

“ ’Tis train time, ma’am. Come ! ” 

“I’m ready,” she whispered. 

“ Then give me your pass, ma’am.” 

She reached him a worn old book, which 
he took and from it read aloud; “Come 


unto Me all ye that labor and are heavy 
laden and I will give you rest.” 

“ That’s the pass over our road, ma’am. 
Are you ready ? ’ ’ 

The light died away and darkness fell in 
its place. My hand touched the stroke of 
one. Simmons awoke with a start and 
snatched his lantern. The whistle shouted 
down brakes ; the train was due. He ran 
to the corner and shook the old woman. 

“ Wake up, marm ; ’tis train time.” 

But she never heeded. He gave one look 
at the white, set face, and, dropping the 
lantern, fled. 

The up-train halted, the conductor 
shouted, “ All aboard,” but no one made a 
move that way. 

The next morning, when the ticket agent 
came, he found her frozen to death. They 
whispered among themselves, and the coro¬ 
ner made out the verdict “ apoplexy,” and 
it was in some way hushed up. 

They laid her out in the depot, and adver¬ 
tised for her friends, but no one came. So, 
after the second day, they buried her. 

The last look on the sweet old face, lit up 
with a smile so unearthly, I keep with me 
yet; and when I think of the strange occur¬ 
rence of that night, I know she went out on 
the other train, that never stopped at the 
poor-house. 


THE GAMBLER’S WIFE. 

ark is the night! How dark ! No 
light; no fire ! 

Cold, on the earth, the last faint sparks 
expire! 

Shivering, she watches by the cradle-side, 

For him, who pledged her love—last year a 
bride! 

“ Hark ! ’tis his foststep ! No ! ’tis past !—- 
’tis gone ! ’ ’ 

Tick!—tick! — “How wearily the time 
crawls on ! 

Why should he leave me thus ?—He once 
was kind ! 

And I believed ’twould last!—How mad 1 
—How blind! 

<< Rest thee, my babe !— Rest on !—’Tis 
hunger’s cry ! 




*54 


PATHETIC READINGS 


Sleep !—for there is no food !—the fount is 
dry ! 

Famine and cold their wearying work have 
done. 

My heart must break ! And thou ! ” The 
clock strikes one. 

“Hush! ’tis the dice-box! Yes! he’s 
there ! he’s there ! 

For this !—for this he leaves me to despair ! 

Leaves love ! leaves truth ! his wife ! his 
child ! for what ? 

The wanton’s smile—the villain—and the 
sot! 

“Yet I’ll not curse him. No! ’tis all in 
vain ! 

’Tis long to wait, but sure he’ll come 
again ! 

And I could starve, and bless him, but for 
you , 

My child! his child! Oh, fiend! ’’ The 
clock strikes two. 

‘ ‘ Hark ! how the sign-board creaks ! The 
blast howls by, 

Moan ! Moan ! a dirge swells through the 
cloudy sky! 

Ha ! ’tis his knock ! he comes ! he comes 
once more ! ’ ’ 

’Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o’er ! 

“ Can he desert us thus ? He knows I stay, 

Night after night, in loneliness to pray, 

For his return—and yet he sees no tear ! 

No ! no ! it cannot be 1 He will be here ! 

“ Nestle more closely, dear one, to my 
heart ! 

Thou’rt cold ! thou’rt freezing ! But we 
will not part! 

Husband !—I die !—Father 1 It is not he ! 

O God? protect my child! ’’ The clock 
strikes three. 

They’re gone, they’re gone ! the glimmer¬ 
ing spark hath fled! 

The wife and child are numbered with the 
dead. 

On the cold hearth, outstretched in solemn 
rest, 

The babe lay, frozen on its mother’s breast; 

The gambler came at last—but all was o’er— 


Dread silence reigned around ; —the clock 
struck four! 

Reynele Coates. 


THE OLD SPINSTER. 

By Permission of the Author. 

o, she never was married, but was to 
have been— 

At the time she was running the 
loom— 

But the fact’ry burned down, some were 
mangled and scarred, 

And her lover was never her groom, 

As he wedded a handsomer girl. 

To the stranger, old Rachel was ugly 
indeed, 

For her features were grim and distorted ; 
Tho’ in years long gone by she was lovely 
and fair, 

As the hopes of her life that were thwarted 
By the dreadful mishap in the mill. 

But beneath the plain calico gown that she 
wore, 

Beat a heart that was loving and tender— 
As the villagers knew—-and man, woman 
or child 

’Gainst the merest rude speech would 
defend her, 

So well was the poor woman loved. 

And right many’s the maid, who, bewailing 
her woe, 

Has told Rachel the slight that distressed 
her, 

Only soon to trip on with a happier look, 
While the silly goose inwardly blessed her, 
For her comforting words and advice. 

Then the urchins have gone to her, covered 
with mud, 

Afraid to go home—perhaps crying— 

But old Rachel (the remedy) washed out 
the stains, 

And they laughed while their garments 
were drying, 

In the yard at the back of her cot. 

When the villagers slept and the cricket 
and owl, 

And the rustling of leaves were unheeded, 




PATHETIC PEA DINGS 


155 


In the room of the sick, by the flickering 
light 

Was she seen, where her presence was 
needed, 

While her gaunt shadow danced on the 
wall. 

And the outcasts who begged at her door 
for a crust, 

Ere they went on their wearisome ways, 

Felt that one thought them human and 
pitied their fate, 

Who recalled the remembrance of earlier 
days, 

And who reckoned them not by their rags. 

But the weight of her grief w:hich was 
never revealed,— 

Save to Jesus—the friend of the lowly— 

Bore her down—and the sands of her 
desolate life, 

Which for years had been ebbing out 
slowly, 

Ceased to run—and her spirit was freed. 

When the villagers stood at the side of her 
grave, 

When the gray-headed preacher’s voice 
faltered, 

When the tears trickeled down the bronzed 
cheeks of the men— 

Oh ! her beauty seemed fresh and unaltered 

As when happy she worked in the mill. 

And oft where she lies a bent form can be 
seen 

When the twilight is deepening its 
shadows : 

And the sweetest of flow’rets are found on 
her tomb, 

All fresh from the dew-gleaming meadows ; 

Yet who gathers them no one can tell. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 


NOBODY'S CHILD. 

The following poem by Miss Phila H. Case, originally ap- 
peared, 1867. It has been noticed and copied and sung and 
spoken almost everywhere, even finding its way into me re than 
one English publication, and has really become a little ‘‘ nobody s 
child," so far as its authorship and due credit are concerned. 

A lone, in the dreary, pitiless street, 

With my torn old dress and bare cold 
feet, 

All day I wandered to and fro, 

Hungry and shivering and nowhere to go; 


The night’s coming on in darkness and 
dread, 

And the chill sleet beating upon my bare 
head; 

Oh ! why does the wind blow upon me so 
wild ? 

It is because I’m nobody’s child ? 

Just over the way there’s a flood of light, 
And warmth and beauty, and all things 
bright; 

Beautiful children, in robes so fair, 

Are caroling songs in rapture there. 

I wonder if they, in their blissful glee, 
Would pity a poor little beggar like me, 
Wandering alone in the merciless street, 
Naked and shivering and nothing to eat. 

Oh ! what shall I do when the night comes 
down 

In its terrible blackness all over the town ? 
Shall I lay me down ’neath the angry sky, 
On the cold hard pavements alone to die ? 
When the beautiful children their prayers 
have said, 

And mammas have tucked them up snugly 
in bed. 

No dear mother ever upon me smiled— 
Why is it, I wonder, that I’m nobody’s 
child! 

No father, no mother, no sister, not one 
In all the world loves me ; e’en the little 
dogs run 

When I wander too near them ; ’tis won¬ 
drous to see, 

How everything shrinks from a beggar like 
me ! 

Perhaps ’tis a dream ; but, sometimes, when 
I lie 

Gazing far up in the dark blue sky. 
Watching for hours some large bright 
star, 

I fancy the beautiful gates are ajar, 

And a host of white-robed, nameless things, 
Come fluttering o’er me in gilded wings ; 

A hand that is strangely soft and fair 
Caresses gently my tangled hair, 

And a voice like the carol of some wild 
bird 

The sweetest voice that was ever heard— 
Calls me many a dear pet name, 

Till my heart and spirits are all aflame ; 



PATHETIC PEA BINGS 


156 

And tells me of such unbounded love, 

And bids me come up to their home above, 
And then, with such pitiful, sad surprise, 
They look at me with their sweet blue 
eyes, 

And it seems to me out of the dreary 
night, 

I am going up to the world of light, 

And away from the hunger and storms so 
wild— 

I am sure, I shall then be somebody’s 
child. 

Phil a H. Cash. 

IN THE BOTTOM DRAWER. 

Suitable to be read at a family party or homecoming. 

I saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of 
the old family bureau this evening, and 
went softly out, and wandered up and 
down, until I knew that she had shut it up 
and gone to her sewing. We have some 
things laid away in that drawer which the 
gold of kings could not buy, and yet they 
are relics which grieve us until both our 
hearts are sore. I haven’t dared look at 
them for a year, but I remember each 
article. 

There are two worn shoes, a little chip- 
hat with part of the brim gone, some stock¬ 
ings, pants, a coat, two or three spools, bits 
of broken crockery, a whip, and several 
toys. Wife—poor thing—goes to that 
drawer every day of her life, and prays 
over it, and lets her tears fall upon the 
precious articles, but I dare not go. 

Sometimes we speak of little Jack, but 
not often. It has been a long time, but 


somehow we can’t get over grieving. He 
was such a burst of sunshine into our lives 
that his going away has been like covering 
our every-day existence with a pall. Some¬ 
times, when we sit alone of an evening, I 
writing and she sewing, a child on the 
street will call out as our boy used to, and 
we will both start up with beating hearts 
and a wild hope, only to find the darkness 
more of a burden than ever. 

It is so still and quiet now. I look up 
at the window where his blue eyes used to 
sparkle at my coming, but he is not there. 
I listen for his pattering feet, his merry 
shout, and his ringing laugh ; but there is 
no sound. There is no one to climb over 
my knees, no one to search my pockets and 
tease for presents ; and I never find the 
chairs turned over, the broom down, or 
ropes tied to the door-knobs. 

I want some one to tease me for my 
knife ; to ride on my shoulder ; to lose my 
axe ; to follow me to the gate when I go, 
and be there to meet me when I come; to 
call “ good-night ” from the little bed, now 
empty. And wife, she misses him still 
more; there are no little feet to wash, no 
prayers to say ; no voice teasing for lumps 
of sugar, or sobbing with the pain of a hurt 
toe; and she would give her own life, 
almost, to awake at midnight, and look 
across to the crib to see our boy there as 
he used to be. 

So we preserve our relics ; and when we 
are dead we hope that strangers will handle 
them tenderly, even if they shed no tears 
over them. 



Part IV 


HUMOROUS READINGS AND 

RECITATIONS 


H UMOR is an element in the human mind that must not be depreciated. Its 
field is not alone that of amusement. Coupled with it is one of the most 
powerful forces employed by the tongue of man for the enforcing of strong 
arguments and truths. Many a rascal and incompetent has been laughed out 
of business, and thousands of visionary schemes, false theories and fads have been liter¬ 
ally tickled out of the people. And the men and women who make their fellows shake 
their sides in genuine mirthfulness, or provoke the merry laugh with pungent joke or 
Sparkling wit are benefactors. Diversion is necessary, laughing is healthy, and humorous 
literature is the best relief for the overburdened mind. 


A AS IT JOB THAT HAD WARTS ON HIM? 

Practice to imitate the three voices distinctly. 

Represent the boy as calling from an adjoining room. The 
wife engaged near her husband speaks in alow but rebuking tone. 

ii ^pA,” said young Mulkittle, “Was it 

X Job that had warts on him ? 5 ’ 

“Didn’t I tell you,” exclaimed 
*he father, “ that I would punish you if you 
ever again attempted to question me in re¬ 
gard to the Bible? ” 

“ But I want to know.” 

“Why don’t you instruct the child?” 
asked Mrs. Mulkittle. 

“ Because he’s too foolish to be taught 
anything. He doesn’t really want to know 
he merely wants to talk.” 

After remaining silent for a few moments, 
Mr. Mulkittle suddenly remembered that he 
had not answered the boy’s question in re¬ 
gard to Job, and not wishing to leave the 
child under the impression that the biblical 
example of patience was afflicted with warts, 
he exclaimed, “ No ! ” 

“No what ? ” asked the boy in surprise. 

“ I say that Job did not have warts.” 

‘ ‘ What was the matter with him ? ’ ’ 

“ He had boils.” 

‘ ‘ Did God make the boils come on him ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes.” 

“What for?” 

“ To test his patience.” 

“ How?” 


“ Why, to see—that is—to determine the 
extent of Job’s fidelity.” 

“Job didn’t want the boils, did he? ” 

“ I suppose not.” 

“ But God wanted him to have ’em, 
didn’t he?” 

“ Yes, I suppose so.” 

“ And if God wanted you to have boils 
you’d have ’em wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ I think so.” 

“ But you don’t want ’em, do you? ” 

“ No.” 

“ But if God wanted you to have ’em, 
you’d have to have ’em, wouldn’t you ? ’ ’ 

“ Yes.” 

“ But you don’t want God to want you to 
have to have ’em—” 

“ Dry up, sir ! You never will have any 
sense. I am ashamed of you, and don’t 
want to associate with you,” and the good 
man went into his study and composed a 
sermon on the “ Early Instruction of Chil¬ 
dren.” 


BABY IN CHURCH. 

Amusing at Sunday School or Church Entertain¬ 
ment. 

A unt NkluiK had fashioned a dainty 
thing, 

Of Hamburg and ribbon and lace. 
And mamma had said, as she settled it 
round 


i57 




153 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


Our beautiful baby’s face, 

Where the dimples play and the laughter 

lkn 

Like sunbeams hid in her violet eyes ; 

“ If the day is pleasant and baby is good, 
She may go to church and wear her new 
hood.” 

Then Ben, aged six, began to tell, 

In elder-brotherly way, 

How very, very good she must be 
If she went to church next day. 

He told of the church, the choir, and the 
crowd, 

And the man up in front who talked so loud; 
But she must not talk, nor laugh, nor sing, 
But just sit as quiet as anything. 

And so, on a beautiful Sabbath in May, 
When the fruit-buds burst into flowers, 
(There wasn’t a blossom on bush or tree 
So fair as this blossom of ours,) 

All in her white dress, dainty and new, 

Our baby sat in the family pew. 

The grand, sweet music, reverent air, 

The solemn hush, and the voice of prayer 

Filled all her baby soul with awe, 

As she sat in her little place, 

And the holy look that the angels wear 
Seemed pictured upon her face. 

And the sweet words uttered so long ago 
Come into my mind with a rhythmic flow ; 
“Of such is the kingdom of heaven,” 
said He, 

And I knew that He spake of such as she. 

The sweet-voiced organ pealed forth again, 
The collection-box came round, 

And baby dropped her penny in, 

And smiled at the clinking sound. 

Alone in the choir Aunt Nellie stood, 
Waiting the close of the soft prelude, 

To begin her solo. High and strong, 

She struck the first note ; clear and long 

She held it, and all were charmed but one, 
Who, with all the might she had, 

Sprang to her little feet and cried : 

“ Aunt Nelliei yous behig bad /” 

The audience smiled, the minister coughed, 
The little boys in the corner laughed, 

The tenor man shook like an aspen leaf, 
And hid his face in his handkerchief. 


And poor Aunt Nellie never could tell 
How she finished that terrible strain, 

But says that nothing on earth would tempt 
Her to go through the scene again. 

So, we have decided perhaps ’tis best, 

For her sake, ours, and all the rest, 

That we wait, maybe, for a year or two, 

Ere our baby re-enter the family pew. 


DE CAMPANE OB NINETEEN—HUNDRED. 

Brother Gardner Firing the First Gun. 

i i T^eeeer Citizens ob Dis Limekiln Club 

X an’ de United State—I liev no doubt 

da in yo’r minds yo’ am axin why 
dis when_enes an what has become ob de- 
gonenesc which has heretofo’ greeted yo’ in 
dis hall. Look about yo’an’ read de signs. I 
hev had my ear to de ground an’ heard de 
boom ob de open’g gun. (Cheers.) 

“ Bend yo’r ear to de east, an’ yo’ h’ar a 
whoopin’ an’ a shoutin’. It’s de millyons 
gittin’ ready to jine in de campaign. Bend 
yo’r ear to de west, an’ yo’ h’ar a screechin’ 
an’ a yellin’. It’s de millyons gittin’ ready 
fur a row. (Whoop.) It’s de same in de 
no’th an’ de south. Fo’ y’ars has rolled 
around ag’in, an’ ebery man from Maine to 
California feels dat de fate of de United 
Staits rests upon his vote. (Howls of 
enthusiasm.) Ober dar on de wall is a sign 
readin’ ‘ Whar Do yo’ Stand ? ’ Dat’s what 
each an’ ebery man ob yo’ wants to keep 
axin’ hisself till yo’ feel as firmly settled as 
a cow in de quickstands. Don’t make no 
mistake about it. In religun yo’ kin wob¬ 
ble about from Baptist to Methodist an’ back 
ebery five or six weeks an’ be saved in de 
eand, but de man who sots out to save 
No’th America can’t do no wobblin’. (Cries 
of ‘ No, no ! ’) He’s got to find out whar 
he stands an’ stick to it. 

“ Havin’ opened dis campaign wid a 
whoop, we hev got to stick right to it an’ 
close wid a yell. (‘ We will! ’) De man 
who starts in to save his kentry has no time 
to go fishin’ or roost on a rail fence. He’s 
got to keep right at work day an’ night, an’ 
he’s got to keep his enthoosiasum up to de 
bfilin’ pint eben if de watermillyon crap am 
a failure an’ all de possums go ober to de 
opposition. (Whoops.) 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


159 


“ I spoke to yo’ ob liberty an’ freedom. 
Dem ar’ our guidin’ principles, but dar will 
be other principles to fit in wid dem to make 
up a glorious whole. (Agitation.) Fur 
instance, it has bin diskivered dat a pusson 
kin hold office an’ save de United Staits 
from a collapse at de same time. (Cheers.) 

“ Fur instance, ag’in, .1 hev taken a two- 
foot rule an’ measured it off an’ satisfied my¬ 
self dat de mo’ de salary attached to de 
office de greater de patriotism ob de man 
who holds it. (Shouts for George Wash¬ 
ington and Patrick Henry). 

“ Lettin’ go ob No’th America fur a mo¬ 
ment an’ speakin’ fur de eull-d race alone, 
we hev hitherto gone on de principle dat de 
office should seek de man. It has alius hap¬ 
pened, howeber, dat when de office cum 
seekin’ de man he wasn’t home, an’ it 
passed on to the Caucasian. (Groans.) I 
reckon we shall make a change in dat prin¬ 
ciple. It’s quite likely dat de cull-d man 
will start out to seek office, instead of 
waitin’, an’ dat he’ll find it, too. (Applause 
which extinguished two lamps and wabbled 
the stovepipe.) 

“ In dis, de openin’ ob de campaign, it 
may be as well dat we announce our plat¬ 
form. Experience in yellin’ fur candidates 
all day an’ carryin’ a torchlight around all 
de evenin’ has taught me dat nobody kin 
start out widout a platform. It’s like put¬ 
tin’ on a suit ob clothes. Yo’ am gwine to 
judge a man by de looks of de cloth. No¬ 
body ever sticks to de platform after he’s 
got de crowd follerin’ him around, but it’s 
got to be dar to begin wid. 

“ An we shall take as our emblem an’ as 
our mascot a possum hangin’ from de limb 
ob a tree by its tail. We shall be known as 
the Possum Party. De possum, helaj^s low. 
When yo’ reckon he’s dead, he’s foolin’ yo’. 
He represents patience an perseverance. 
He’ll git dar when deb’ar an’ decoon won’t 
stand no show. In dis hall at our next 
meetin ’ will hang our emblem, an ’ ebery man 
who am fur honest guberment will wear de 
Possum badge on his breast. (Tremendous 
and long-continued yells for possums, lib¬ 
erty and our side.) 

“ An ’ now let us march for ’ ard to victory. 
We hev sot our faces to de front, an’ dere 
will be no turnin’ back. Liberty fust, 


den principle ; den liberty an’ principle an’ 
office, all bolted together an’ handed out 
widout any string attached. Let us now 
sing de ‘ Star Spangled Banner,’ followed 
by ‘ Yankee Doodle,’an’ disperse to meet 
ag’in at de call ob de bugle of liberty.” 

C. B. Lewis. 


HAN AND THE MOSQUITO. 

This humorously absurd serio-comic selection should be 
recited in a dignified manner with a learned look on the face. 
No matter how much the audience laughs; no trace of a smile 
must appear on the speaker’s countenance. 


G ENTEEMEN, Mr. President, and Ladies : 
I rise before this augustus body with 
feelings more easily described than 
imagined. I come to address you upon a 
subject in which you are all concerned—a 
subject upon the decision of which depends 
the destiny of a nation. And I wish to 
speak in language so simple that even the 
women and children may be able to under¬ 
stand me. 

What is man ? Man is an amphibious, 
plantigrade, hyporetted quadruped of the 
genus felix or genus rana , carniverous in 
some respects, herbivorous in some respects 
and jubiverous in the rest. He lives prin¬ 
cipally on goats, herrings, kerosene oil and 
common whiskey. He does not live alone, 
but usually has another man living with 
him called the 7 ^-man. 

But let us proceed to define mosquito 
The mosquito is a high-bred, carniverous, 
digitigrade indentate biped animal of the 
genus homo, closely allied to the Armadillo. 
Habits precarious, similar to those of man. 
His food is chiefly rare meats, but he is 
also, like man, fond of ham and eggs, ice 
cream and oysters on the half shell. 

Another point, man sings. Ditto the 
mosquito. What music is more charming 
or so touches the feelings, or so arouses a 
man from drowsiness as the sweet-toned 
and melodious voice of a mosquito. Who 
on hearing this sweet gentle voice will not 
instinctively reach forth and try to gather 
the singer in that he may come in closer 
contact with him ? 

Picture to yourselves a poor, innocent, 
harmless mosquito on a cold winter’s night 
singing for something to eat. That man’s 
heart must indeed be as hard as the rock 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


160 

of Niagara or the Falls of Gibraltar who is 
not touched with the profoundest and most 
sympathetic feeling as he looks out upon 
such a scene as this. But I will not dwell 
longer, as I already see the tears trickling 
down your cheeks. I have only one practi¬ 
cal remark to make in winding up, the 
extreme force of which you will all see. 
Shakespeare said that John Milton told 
Lord Byron and Ben Johnson that Beau¬ 
mont and Fletcher were heard to whisper 
that Sir Walter Raleigh and John Ford had 
said that Lord Bacon and Edmund Spenser 
had responded to a question which Sir 
Philip Sydney had been supposed to pro¬ 
pound to Thomas Sackville, who seemed to 
be satisfied that John Lyly had never 
thought that Robert Green and George 
Peele would be surprised if Edmund Waller 
and Francis Quarles had heard that Sir 
Thomas Brown and Thomas Fuller were 
under the impression that Jeremy Taylor had 
remarked to Samuel Butler that John 
Dryden was heard talking to William Con¬ 
greve about the remark of John Locke to a 
friend in which Sir Isaac Newton was 
believed to have imagined that Sir Humph¬ 
rey Davy had suggested that Liebig might 
have known that Edgar Poe had said that 
Alexander Pope and George Washington 
had told Henry Clay that President Arthur 
was heard talking about a report in which 
the Honorable Zebedee Simpkins was heard 
to repeat the fact that mosquitos are related 
to the human family. 

W. J. E. Cox. 


REVERIE IN CHURCH. 

Younglady should be dresed in the height of fashion and walk 
on the stage as if coming into church, without appearing to notice 
the audience, sit down and begin. 

T oo early of course ! How provoking ! 
I told ma just how it would be. 

I might as well have on a wrapper, 
For there’s not a soul here yet to see. 

There ! Sue Delaplaine’s pew is empty,— 
I declare if it isn’t too bad ! . 

I know my suit cost more than her’s did, 
And I wanted to see her look mad. 

I do think that sexton’s too stupid—* 

He’s put some one else in our pew— 


And the girl’s dress just kills mine com¬ 
pletely ; 

Now what am I going to do ? 

/ 

The psalter, and Sue isn’t here yet l 
I don’t care, I think it’s a sin 
For people to get late to service, 

Just to make a great show coming in. 

Perhaps she is sick, and can’t get here— 
She said she’d a headache last night. 

How mad she’ll be after fussing ! 

I declare it would serve her just right. 

Oh, you’ve got there at last, my dear, have 
you ? 

Well, I don’t think you need be so proud 
Of that bonnet if Virot did make it, 

It’s horrid, fast-looking and loud. 

What a dress !—for a girl in her senses 
To go on the street in light blue !— 

And those coat-sleeves—they wore them 
last summer— 

Don’t doubt, though, that she thinks 
they’re new. 

Mrs. Gray’s polonaise was imported— 

So dreadful!—a minister’s wife, 

And thinking so much about fashion !— 

A pretty example of life ! 

The altar’s dressed sweetly—I wonder 
Who sent those white flowers for the 
font!— 

Some girl who’s gone 011 the assistant— 
Don’t doubt it was Bessie Lamont. 

Just look at her now, little humbug !— 

So devout—I suppose she don’t know 
That she’s bending her head too far over 
And the ends of her switches all show. 

What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning! 

That woman will kill me some day, 

With her horrible lilacs and crimsons, 

Why will these old things dress so gay ? 

And there’s Jenny Wells with Fred Tracy—* 
She’s engaged to him now—horrid thing! 
Dear me ! I’d keep on my glove sometimes,, 
If I did have a solitaire ring ! 

How can this girl next to me act so— 

The way that she turns round and stares, 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


161 


And then makes remarks about people :— 
She’d better be saying her prayers. 

Oh, dear, what a dreadful long sermon ! 

He must love to hear himself talk ! 

And it’s after twelve now,—how provoking ! 
I wanted to have a nice walk. 

Through at last ! Well, it isn’t so dreadful 
After all, for we don’t dine till one : 
How can people say church is poky !— 

So wicked !—I think its real fun. 

George A. Baker, Jr. 


“HELEN’S BABIES” ON NOAH’S ARK. 

Humorous Child Sketch. 
hat afternoon I devoted to making a 
bouquet for Miss May ton, and a most 
delightful occupation I found it. It 
was no florist’s bouquet, composed of only 
a few kinds of flowers wired upon sticks, 
and arranged according to geometric pattern. 
I used many a rare flower, too shy of bloom 
to reccommend itself to florists ; I combined 
tints almost as numerous as the flowers 
were, and perfumes to which city bouquets 
are utter strangers. 

At length it was finished, but my delight 
suddenly became clouded by the dreadful 
thought, “What will people say?’’ Ah! 
I had it. I had seen in one of the library 
drawers a small pasteboard box, shaped like 
a bandbox ; doubtless that would hold it. 
I found the box ; it was of just the size I 
needed. I dropped my card into the bot¬ 
tom—no danger of a lady not finding the 
card accompanying a gift of flowers—neatly 
fitted the bouquet in the center of the box, 
and went in search of Mike. He winked 
cheeringly as I explained the nature of his 
errand, and he whispered : 

“I’ll do it clane as a whistle, yer honor. 
Mistress Clarkson’s cook an’ inesilf under¬ 
stand each other, an’ I’m used to goin’ 
up the back way. Niver a man can see but 
the angels, an’ they won’t tell.” 

“Very well, Mike; here’s a dollar for 
you ; you’ll find the box on the hat-rack, in 
the hall.” 

Toddie disappeared somewhere after 
supper, and came back very disconsolate. 

“Can’t find my dolly’s k’adle,” he 

whined. 

ii H 


“ Nevermind, old pet,” said I soothingly. 
“ Uncle will ride you on his foot.” 

“ But I want my dolly’s k’adle,” said he 
piteously rolling out his lower lip, 

“ Don’t you want me to tell you a 
story ?” 

For a moment Toddie’s face indicated a 
terrible internal conflict between old Adam 
and mother Kve ; but curiosity finally over¬ 
powered natural depravity, and Toddie 
murmured: 

“ Yesh.” 

“ What shall I tell you about ?” 

“ Bout Nawndeark.” 

“ About what f ” 

“ He means Noah an’ the ark,” exclaimed 
Budge. 

“ Datsh what / say—Nawndeark,” de¬ 
clared Toddie. 

“ Well,” said I, hastily refreshing my 
memory by picking up the Bible—for Helen, 
like most people, is pretty sure to forget to 
pack her Bible when she runs away from 
home for a few days—“ well; once it rained 
forty days and nights, and everybody was 
drowned from the face of the earth, except¬ 
ing Noah, a righteous man, who was saved 
with all his family in an ark which the Ford 
commanded him to build. 

“Uncle Harry,” said Budge, after con¬ 
templating me with open eyes and mouth 
for at least two minutes after I had finished, 
“ do you think that’s Noah ? ” 

“Certainly, Budge; here’s the whole 
story in the Bible.” 

“ Well, / don’t think it’s Noah one single 
bit,” said he, with increasing emphasis. 

“ I’m beginning to think we read differ¬ 
ent Bibles, Budge; but let’s hear your 
version.” 

“ Huh?” 

‘ ‘ Tell me about Noah, if you know so 
much about him.” 

“ I will, if you want me to. Once the 
Lord felt so uncomfortable cos folks was 
bad that he was sorry he ever made any¬ 
body. or any world or anything. But 
Noah wasn’t bad ; the Lord liked him first- 
rate, so he told Noah to build a big ark, 
and then the Lord would make it rain so 
everybody should be drownded but Noah 
an’ his little boys an’ girls, an’ doggies an’ 
pussies an’ mamma-cows an’ little boy-cows 




i 62 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


an’ little girl-cows an’ hosses an’ every¬ 
thing; they’d go in the ark and wouldn’t 
get wetted a bit when it rained. An’ 
Noah took lots of things to eat in the ark- 
cookies an’ milk an’ oatmeal an’ straw¬ 
berries an’ porgies an’—oh yes ; an’ plum- 
puddin’s an’ pumpkin-pies. But Noah 
didn’t want everybody to get drownded, so 
he talked to folks an’ said, ‘It’s goin’ to 
rain awful pretty soon ; You’d better be 
good, an’ then the Eord’ll let you come 
into my ark.’ An’ they jus’ said, ‘ Oil! if 
it rains we’ll go in the house till it stops; ’ 
an’ other folks said, ‘ We ain’t afraid of 
rain; we’ve got an umbrella.’ An’ some 
more said they wasn’t goin’ to be afraid of 
just a rain. But it did rain though, an* 
folks went in their houses, an’ the water 
came in, an’ they went upstairs, an’ the 
water came up there, an’ they got on the 
tops of the houses, an’ up in big trees, an* 
up in mountains, an’ the water went after 
’em everywhere, an’ drownded everybody, 
only just except Noah an’ the people in the 
ark. An’ it rained forty days an’ nights, 
an’ then it stopped, an’ Noah got out of 
the ark, an’ he an’ his little boys an’ girls 
went wherever they wanted to, an’ every¬ 
thing in the world was all theirs ; there 
wasn’t anybody to tell ’em to go home, nor 
no kindergarten schools to go to, nor no 
bad boys to fight ’em, nor nothin. , Now 
tell us ’nother story.” 

“ An’ I want my dolly’s k’adle. Ocken 
Hawwy, I wants my dolly’s k’adle, tause 
my dolly’s in it, an’ X wan to shee her,” 
interrupted Toddie. 

Just then came a knock at the door. 
“ Come in ! ” I shouted. 

In stepped Mike, with an air of the great¬ 
est secrecy, handed me a letter and the 
identical box in which I had sent the 
flowers to Miss May ton. What could it 
mean ? I hastily opened the envelope, and 
and at the same time Toddie skrieked : 

“Oh! darsh my dolly’s k’adle—dare 
tizh ! ” snatched and opened the box, and 
displayed—his doll! My heart sickened, 
and did not r( gain its strength during the 
perusal of the following note : 

“ Miss M flytoti herewith returns to Mr. 
Burton th' ’package which just arrived 
with his C;Urd. She recognizes the con¬ 


tents as a portion of the apparent property 
of one of Mr. Burton’s nephews, but is 
unable to understand why it should have 
been sent to her. 

“Junk 20, 1875.’’ 

“Toddie,” I roared, as my younger 
nephew caressed his loathsome doll, and 
murmured endearing words to it, “where 
did you get that box ? ” 

“On the hat-wack,” replied the youth, 
with perfect fearlessness. “ I keeps it in 
ze book-case djawer, an’ somebody took it 
’way an’ put nasty ole flowers in it.” 

‘ ‘ Where are those flowers ?” I demanded. 

Toddie looked up with considerable sur¬ 
prise, but promptly replied: 

“I froed ’em away—don’t want no ole 
flowers in my dolly’s k’adle. That’s ze 
way she wocks—see ! ’ ’ 

John Habberton. 


KENTUCKY PHILOSOPHY. 

This recitation may be used as an amusing scene in an 
entertainment by the reciter, dressing as a negro woman—calico 
dress, black face, red bandana handkerchief on head. William 
departing from stage as mammy enters and halts as she hails him. 
The green watermelon, Mirandy etc., introduced at proper points 

Y ou Wiyum, come’ere, suh, dis instunce, 
Wut dat you got under dat box ? 

I do’ want no foolin’—you hear me? 
Wut you say ? Ain’t nothin’ but rocks? 
Pears ter me you’s owdashus p’ticler. 

S’posin dey’s uv a new kine. 

I’ll des take a look at deni rocks. 

Hi-yi ! der you tink dat I’s bline ? 

I calls dat a plain watermillion, 

You scamp ; an’ I knows whar it growed ? 
It cum fum de Jimmerson cawn fiel’, 

Dar on ter side er de road. 

You stole it, you rascal—you stole it. 

I watched you fum down in de lot, 

En time I gits th’ough wid you, nigger, 
You wont eb’n be a grease spot. 

I’ll fix you. Mirandy ! Mirandy ! 

Go cut me a hick’ry—make ’ase, 

En cut me de toughes’ en keenes’ 

You c’n fine anywhah on de place. 

I’ll larn you, Mr. Wiyum Joe Vetters 
Ter lie en ter steal, you young sinner 1 
Disgracin’ yo’ ole Christian mammy, 

En rnakin’ her leave cookin’ dinner I 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


Now, ain’t you ashamed er yo’se’f, sur? 

I is. I’s ’shamed youse my son ! 

En de holy accorgian angel 

He’s ’shamed er wut youse done. 

En he’s tuk it down up yander, 

I coal-black, blood-red letters— 

“ One watermillion stoled 
By Wiyum Josephus Vetters.” 

En whut you s’posen Br’er Bascom, 

You’ teacher at Sunday-School, 

'Ud say if he knowed how youse broke 
De good Eawd’s Gol’n Rule ? 

Boy, whah’s de raisin’ I gib you ? 

Is you boun fuh ter be a black villiun ? 
I’ss ’prised dat a chile er you mammy 
’Ud steal any man’s watermillion. 

En I’s now gwine ter cut it right open, 

En you shian’t have nary bite, 

Fuh a boy who’ll steal watermillions— 

En dat in de day’s broad light—- 
Ain’t—Eawdy ! it’s green ! Mirandy ! 

Mirandy ! come on wi’ dat switch ! 

Well, stealin’ a g-r-e-e-n watermillion ! 
Who ebber heered tell er sich ? 

Cain’t tell w’en dey’s ripe ? W’y you thump 
um, 

En w’en they go pank dey is green ; 

But w’en dey go punk , now you mine me, 
Dey’s ripe—en dats des’ wut I mean. 

En nex’ time you hook watermillions— 
You heered me, you ig-?iamp , you hunk> 
Ef you do’ want a lickin’ all over, 

Be sho’ dat dey allers go “punk!" 


HOW “RUBY” PLAYED. 

The gentleman who recites this piece should be attired as a 
country gentleman of the wealthier sort, and should be a good 
comedian. The selection is very humorous when well rendered. 

W ELL, sir, he had the blamedest, big¬ 
gest, cattycornedest pianner you 
ever laid eyes on; somethin’ like 
a distracted billiard table on three legs. 
The lid was hoisted, and mighty well it 
was. If it hadn’t been, he’d a tore the 
entire inside clean out, and scattered ’em 
to the four winds of heaven. 

Played well f You bet he did ; but don’t 
interrupt me. When he first sit down, he 
’peared to keer mighty little ’bout, playin’, 
and wisht he hadn ’ t come He tweedle-lee- 


163 

died a little on the treble, and twoodle-oodled 
some on the bass-just foolin’ and boxin’ 
the thing’s jaws for bein’ in the way. And 
I says to a man settin’ next to me, says I, 
“ What sort of fool playin’ is that ?” And 
he says, “ Hush !” But presently his hands 
commenced chasin’ one another up and 
down the keys like a parcel of rats scam¬ 
perin’ through a garret very swift. Parts 
of it were sweet, though, and reminded me 
of a sugar squirrel turnin’ the wheel of a 
candy cage. 

“Now,” I says to my neighbor, “he’s 
showin’ off. He thinks he’s a doin’ of it; 
but he ain’t got no idee, no plan of nothin’. 
If he’d play me a tune of some kind or 
other, I’d 

But my neighbor says, “Hush!” very 
impatient. 

I was just about to get up and go home, 
bein’ tired of that foolishness, when I heard 
a little bird waking up away off in the 
woods, and call sleepy-like to his mate; 
and looked up, and see that Ruby was 
beginning to take some interest in his busi¬ 
ness, and I sit down again. It was the 
peep of day. The light came faint from 
the east, the breezes blowed gentle and 
fresh ; some more birds waked up in the 
orchard, then some more in the trees near 
the house, and all begun singin’ together. 
People began to stir, and the gal opened the 
shutters. Just then the first beam of the sun 
fell upon the blossoms a little more, and it 
teched the roses on the bushes, and the 
next thing it was broad day. The sun 
fairly blazed, the birds sung like they’d 
split their little throats ; all the leaves was 
movin’, and flashin’ diamonds of dew, and 
the whole wide world was bright and happy 
as a king. Seemed to me like there was a 
good breakfast in every house in the land, 
and not a sick child or woman anywhere. 
It was a fine mornin’. 

And I says to my neighbor, “That’s 
music, that is.” 

But he glared at me like he’d like to cut 
my throat. 

Presently the wind turned ; it began to 
thicken up, and a kind of gray mist came 
over things. I got lowspirited directly. 
Then a silver rain began to fall. I could 
see the drops touch the ground: some 



164 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


flashed up like long pearl earrings, and the 
rest rolled away like round rubies. It was 
pretty, but melancholy. Then the pearls 
gathered themselves into long strands and 
necklaces ; and then they melted into thin 
silver streams, running between golden 
gravels ; and then the streams joined each 
other at the bottom of the hill, and made a 
brook that flowed silent, except that you 
could kinder see the music, specially when 
the bushes on the banks moved as the music 
went along down the valley. I could smell 
the flowers in the meadow. But the sun 
didn’t shine, nor the birds sing ; it was a 
foggy day, but not cold. 

The most curious thing was the little 
white angle boy, like you see in pictures, 
that run ahead of the music brook, and led 
it on and on, away out of the world, where 
no man ever was, certain. I could see that 
boy just as plain as I see you. Then the 
moonlight came, without any sunset, and 
shone on the grave-yards, where some few 
ghosts lifted their hands and went over the 
wall ; and between the black, sharp-top 
trees splendid marble houses rose up, with 
fine ladies in the lit up windows, and men 
that loved ’em, but could never get a.-nigh 
’em, who played on guitars under the trees, 
and made me that miserable I could have 
cried, because I wanted to love somebody, I 
don’t know who, better than the men with 
the guitars did. 

Then the sun went down, it got dark, the 
wind moaned and wept like a lost child for 
its dead mother ; and I could a got up then 
and there and preached a better sermon than 
any I ever listened to. There wasn’t a 
thing in the world left to live for, not a 
blame thing; and yet I didn’t want the 
music to stop one bit. It was happier 
to be miserable than to be happy without 
being miserable. I couldn’t understand it. 
I hung my head, and pulled out my hand¬ 
kerchief, and blowed my nose loud to keep 
me from cryin’. My eyes is weak, anyway. 
I didn’t want anybody to be a-gazin’ at me 
a-snivelin’, and it’s nobody’s business what 
I do with my nose. It’s mine. But some 
several glared at me, mad as blazes. Then, 
all of a sudden, old Rubin changed his tune. 
He ripped out and he reared, he tipped and 
he tared, he pranced and he charged, like 


the grand entry at a circus. ’Peared to me 
that all the gas in the house was turned on 
at once, things got so bright; and I hilt up 
my head, ready to look any man in the face, 
and not afraid of nothin’. It was a circus 
and a brass band and a big ball all a-goin’ on 
at the same time. He lit into them keys 
like a thousand of brick; he gave ’em no 
rest day or night; he set every livin’ joint 
in me a-goin’; and, not bein’ able to stand it 
no longer, I jumped, sprang onto my seat 
and jest holered,— 

“ Go it , Rube ! ” 

Every blamed man, woman, and child in 
the house riz on me, and shouted, “ Put 
him out! ” “ Put him out.! ’’ 

“ Put your great-grandmother’s grizzly- 
gray-greenish cat into the middle of next 
month !” I says. “ Tech me if you dare ! 
I paid my money, and you just come a-nigh 
me !” 

With that some several policeman run up, 
and I had to simmer down. But I could a 
fit any fool that laid hands on me ; for I was 
bound to hear Ruby out, or die. 

He had changed his tune again. He 
hop-light ladies and tip-toed fine from end 
to end of the key-board. He played soft 
and low and solemn. I heard the church 
bells over the hills. The candles of heaven 
was lit one by one. I saw the stars rise. 
The great organ of eternity began to play 
from the world’s end to the world’s end, 
and all the angels went to prayers . . . Then 
the music changed to water, full of feeling 
that couldn’t be thought, and began to 
drop—drip, drop—drip, drop, clear and 
sweet, like tears of joy falling into a lake of 
glory. It was sweeter than that. It was 
as sweetheart sweetened with white sugar, 
mixt with powdered silver and seed dia¬ 
monds. It was too sweet. I tell you the 
audience cheered. Rubin he kinder bowed, 
like he wanted to say, <fc Much obleeged, 
but I’d rather you wouldn’t interrup’ me.” 

He stopt a moment or two to ketch 
breath. Then he got mad. He run his 
fingers through his hair, he shoved up his 
sleeve, he opened his coat-tails a leetle 
further, he drug up his stool, he leaned over, 
and, sir, he just went for that old pianner. 
He slapt her face, he boxed her jaws, he 
pulled her nose, he pinched her ears, and he 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


165 


scratched her cheeks, until she fairly yelled. 
He knockt her down, and he stamped on 
her shameful. She bellowed, she bleated 
like a calf, ska howled- like a horrid, she 
squealed like a pig,she shrieked like a rat, 
and then he wouldn't let her up. He ran a 
quarter stretch down the low grounds of the 
bass, till he got clean in the bowels of the 
earth, and you heard thunder galloping after 
thunder, through the hollows and caves of 
perdition ; and then he fox-chased his right 
hand with his left, till he got way out of the 
treble into the clouds, whar the notes was 
finer than the pints of cambric needles, and 
you couldn’t hear nothin’ but the shadders 
of ’em. And then he wouldn’t let the old 
pianner go. He for’ard two’d, he crost over 
first gentleman, he chassade right and left, 
back to your places, he all hands’d aroun’, 
ladies to the right, promenade all, in and 
out, here and there, back and forth, up and 
down, perpetual motion, double-twisted and 
turned and tacked and tangled into forty- 
eleven thousand doubledow knots. 

By jinks it was a mixtery. And then he 
wouldn’t let the old pianner go. He fecht 
up his right wing, he fecht up his left wing, 
he fecht up his center, he fecht up his 
reserves. He fired by file, he fired by pla¬ 
toons, by company, by regiments, and by 
brigades. He opened his cannon.-—siege 
guns down thar, Napoleons here, twelve- 
pounders yonder; big guns, little guns, 
middle-sized guns, round shot, shell, shrap¬ 
nels, grape, canister, mortar, minesand maga¬ 
zines,—every livin’ battery and bomba-goin 
at the same time. The house trembled, the 
lights danced, the walls shuk, the floor come 
up, the ceilin’ come down, the sky split, the 
ground rokt; heavens and earth, creation, 
sweet potatoes, Moses, ninepences, glory, 
ten-penny nails, Samson in a ’simmon tree, 
Tump Tompson in a tumbler-cart, roodle- 
oodle-oodle-oodle— ruddle-uddle-uddle-ud- 
dle— -raddle -addle-addle-addle—riddle-iddle- 
iddle-iddle — reedle-eedle-eedle-eedle—p-r-r 
r-r-rlang! Bang ! ! !! lang 1 per-lang ! p-r- 
r-r-r-r ! ! Bang ! ! ! 

With that bang, he lifted himself bodily 
into the air ; and he came down with his 
knees, his ten fingers, his ten toes, his 
elbows, and his nose, striking every single, 
solitary key on the pianner at the same time. 


The thing busted, and went off into seven¬ 
teen hundred and fifty-seven thousand five 
hundred and forty-two hemi-demi-semi 
quavers ; and I know’d no mo’. 

When I come to, I was under ground 
about twenty foot, in a place they call Oys¬ 
ter Bay, a treatin’ a Yankee, that I never 
laid eyes on before, and never expect to 
again. Day was breakin’ by the time I got 
to St. Nicholas Hotel, and I pledge you my 
word I did not know my name. The man 
asked me the number of my room; and I 
told him, “ Hot music on the half-shell, foi 
two ! ’ ’ 


WHEN WE GET THERE. 

On the thirty-second day of thirteenth 
month, or the eighth day of the week, 
On the twenty-fifth hour of the sixty-first 
minute we’ll find all things that we 
seek, 

They are there in the limbo of Lollipop 
land, acloud island resting in air, 

On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of 
Mist in the Valley of Overthere. 

On the Nowhere side of the Mountain of 
Mist in the Valley of Overthere, 

On a solid vapor foundation of cloud are 
palaces grand and fair ; 

And there is where our dreams will come 
true and the seeds of our hope will grow, 
On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope 
in the hamlet of Hocus Po. 

On the thitherward side of the Hills of Hope, 
in the hamlet of Hocus Po, 

We shall see all the things that we want to 
see, and know all we care to know, 

For there the old men will never lament, 
the babies will never squeak, 

In the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville, 
in the County of Hideangoseek. 

In the Cross Road Corners of Chaosville, 
in the County of Hideangoseek. 

On the thirty-second day of the thirteenth 
month, on the eighth day of the week, 
We shall do all the things that we please to 
do, and accomplish all we try. 

On the sunset shore of Sometimeorother, by 
the beautiful Bay of Bimeby. 

Yankee Beade. 




HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


166 


THE OWL=CRITIC. 

The manner of the know-all-braggart should be assumed, and 
his part spoken in confident pedantic manner, 

“Y\T HO stll ^ ec ^ that white owl ? ” No 
V V one spoke in the shop ; 

The barber was busy, and he 
couldn’t stop ; 

The customers, waiting their turns, were all 
reading 

The Daily , the Herald , the Post, little heed¬ 
ing 

The young man who blurted out such a 
blunt question ; 

Not one raised a head, or even made a 
suggestion ; 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

“ Don’t you see, Mister Brown,” 

■Cried the youth, with a frown, 

” How wrong the whole thing is, 

Bow preposterous each wing is, 

How flattened the head is, how jammed 
down the neck is— 

[n short, the whole owl, what an ignorant 
wreck ’ tis ! 

“ I make no apology; 

I’ve learned owl-eology. 

I’ve passed days and nights in 2 hundred 
collections, 

And cannot be blinded to any deflections 
Arising from unskilful fingers that fail 
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his 
tail. 

Mister Brown ! Mister Brown ! 

Do take that bird down, 

Dr you’ll soon be the laughing-stock all 
over town ! ” 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

‘‘I’ve studied owls, 

And other night fowls 

And I tell you 

What I know to be true ; 

An owl cannot roost ' 

With his limbs so unloosed ; 

No owl in this world 
Ever had his claw curled, 

Ever had his legs slanted, 

Ever had his bill canted, 

Ever had his neck screwed 
Into that attitude. 

He can’t do it, because 
’Tis against all bird laws. 

Anatomy teaches, 


Ornithology preaches, 

An owl has a toe 
That can''t turn out so ! 

I’v made the white owl my study for years, 
And to see such a job almost moves me to 
tears ! 

Mister Brown, I’m amazed 
You should be so gone crazed 
As to put up a bird 
In that posture absurd ! 

To look at that owl really brings on a dizzi¬ 
ness ; 

The man who stuffed him don’t half know 
his business ! ’ ’ 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

“ Examine those eyes. 

I’m filled with surprise 
Taxidermists should pass 
Off on you such poor glass ; 

So unnatural they seem 
They’d make Audubon scream, 

And John Burroughs laugh 
To encounter such chaff. 

Do take that bird down ; 

Have him stuffed again, Brown ! ” 

And the barber kept on shaving. 

‘‘ With some sawdust and bark 
I could stuff in the dark 
An owl better than that. 

I could make an ojd hat 
Look more like an owl 
Than that horrid fowl, 

Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse 
leather. 

In fact, about him there’s not one natural 
feather.” 

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal 
lurch, 

The owl, very gravely, got down from his 
perch, 

Walked round, and regarded his fault¬ 
finding critic 

(Who thought he was stuffed) with a glance 
analytic, 

And then fairly hooted, as if he should say: 
“ Your learning’s at fault this time, anyway; 
Don’t waste it again on a live bird, I pray. 
I’m an owl; you’re another. Sir Critic, 
good-day ! ” 

And the barber kept on shaving, 
James T. Fieed. 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


167 


THE CASE OF GUNN V5. BARCLAY. 

To be read or recited in a plain homespun manner . 

A good deal of interest was felt in the 
case of Gunn vs. Barclay, which was 
tried recently in the Odell County 
Court. It involved the question of the 
ownership of Gunn’s right leg. Gunn 
related the facts of the case as follows : 

You see, one day last winter, while I was 
shoveling snow off the roof of my house, 
I slipped and fell over on the pavement 
below. When they picked me up they 
found that my right leg was fractured. Dr. 
Barclay examined it and gave it as his 
opinion that mortification would be certain 
to set in unless that leg came off. So I told 
him he’d better chop it away. And he went 
round to his office, and presently he came 
back with a butcher knife and a cross-cut 
saw and a lot of rags. Then they chloro¬ 
formed me, and while I was asleep the^ 
removed that leg. When I came to I felt 
pretty comfortable, and the doctor, after 
writing some prescriptions, began wrapping 
my leg up in an old nervspaper; then he 
tucked the bundle under his arm and began 
to move towards the door. I was watching 
him all the time and I hallooed at him : 

‘ ‘ Where in the mischief are you going 
with that leg of mine ? ” 

“I’m not going anywhere with that leg of 
yours,” he said. “ But I am going home 
with my leg.” 

“Well, you’d better drop it”, said I. 
“ It belongs to me, and I want it for a keep¬ 
sake.” 

And you know he faced me down about 
it,—said when a doctor sawed a man a^art, 
he always took the amputated member as 
one of his perquisites ; and he said that, as 
it was his legal right to take something on 
such occasions, it was merely optional 
with him whether he took the leg, or left the 
leg and took me ; but he preferred the leg. 
And when I asked him what he wanted with 
it, anyway, he said he was goingto put it in 
a glass jar, full of alcohol, and stand it in 
his office. Then I told him it shocked my 
modesty to think of a bare leg of mine being 
put on exhibition in that maner, with no 
pantaloon on; but he said he thought he 
could stand it. 


But I protested. I said I had had that 
leg a good many years, and I felt sort of 
attached to it. I knew all its little ways. 
I would feel lonely without it. Who would 
tend to the corns that I had cared for so 
long? Who would treat the bunion with 
the proper degree of delicacy ? „ Who would 
rub the toes with liniment when they got 
frosted? And who would keep the shins 
from being kicked ? No one could do it as 
well as I could, because I felt an interest in 
the leg; felt sociable and friendly, and 
acquainted with it. But Barclay said he 
thought he could attend to it, and it would 
do the corns good to be soaked in alcohol. 

And I told him I’d heard that even after 
a man lost a limb, if any one hurt that limb 
the original owner felt it, and I told Barclay 
I would not trust him not to tread on my 
toes, and stick pins in my calf, and make me 
suffer every time he had a grudge against 
me ; and he said he didn’t know, maybe he 
would if I didn’t use him right. 

And I wanted to know what was to hin¬ 
der him, if he felt like it, taking the bone 
out of the leg and making part of it up into 
knife-handles and suspender buttons, and 
working the rest up into some kind of a clar¬ 
ionet with finger holes punched in the sides. 
I could stand a good deal, I said, even if I 
had only one leg; but I couldn’t bear to 
think of a man going around the community 
serenading girls with tunes played on one of 
my bones—a bone, too, that I felt a good 
deal of affection for. If he couldn’t touch 
a girl’s heart without serenading her with 
one of my bones, why he better remain 
single. 

We blathered away for about an hour, and 
at last he said he was disgusted with so much 
bosh about a ridiculous bit of meat and 
muscle, and he wrapped the paper around 
the leg again and rushed out of the door for 
home. 

When I sued him, and the case came up 
in court, the judge instructed the jury that 
the evidence that a leg belonged to a man 
was that he had it, and as Barclay had this 
leg, the presumption was that it was his. 
But no man was ever known to have three 
legs and as Barclay thus had three the sec¬ 
ond presumption was that it was not his. 
But as Gunn did not have it, the law could 


[68 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


not accept the theory that it was Gunn’s 
leg, and consequently the law couldn’t tell 
who under the sun the leg belonged to, and 
the jury would have to guess at it. So the 
jury brought in a verdict against both of us, 
and recommended that, in the uncertainty 
that existed, the leg should be buried. The 
leg was lying during the trial out in the 
vestibule of the court room, and we found 
afterward that during the trial Bill Wood’s 
dog had run off with it and that settled the 
thing. Queer, wasn’t it ? 


CASEY AT THE BAT. 

This selection was made famous by DeWolf Hopper, who 
when called before the curtain between the acts of his comic 
opera performances recited it hundreds of times. 

T here was ease in Casey’s manner as he 
stepped into his place, 

There was pride in Casey’s bearing, 
and a smile on Casey’s face ; 
And when responding to the cheers he 
lightly doffed his hat, 

No stranger in the crowd could doubt ’twas 
Casey at the bat. 

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he 
rubbed his hands with dirt, 

Five thousand tongues applauded when he 
wiped them on his shirt; 

Then while the writhing pitcher ground the 
ball into his hip. 

Defiance glanced in Casey’s eye, a sneer 
curled Casey’s lip. 

And now the leather-covered sphere came 
whirling thro’ the air, 

And Casey stood a-whatching it in haughty 
grandeur there ; 

Close by the sturdy batsman the ball 
unheeded sped. 

‘'That ain’t my style,’ ’ said Casey, “ Strike 
one,” the umpire said. 

From the benches, black with people, there 
went up a muffled roar, 

Like the beating of storm waves on a stern 
and distant shore; 

‘‘Kill him! kill the umpire!” shouted 
some one on the stand. 

And it’s likely they’d have killed him had 
not Casey raised his hand. 


With a smile of Christian charity great 
Cesey’s visage shone, 

He stilled the rising tumult, he bade the 
game go on ; 

He signalled to the pitcher, and once more 
the spheroid flew, 

But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire 
said “ Strike two.” 

“ Fraud ! ” cried the maddened thousands, 
and the echo answered, ‘‘ Fraud ! ” 

But the scornful look from Casey, and the 
audience was awed ; 

They saw his face grow stern and cold, 
they saw his muscles strain, 

And they knew that Casey wouldn’t let that 
ball go by again. 

The sneer is gone from Casey’s lips, his 
teeth are clenched in hate, 

He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon 
the plate; 

And now the pitcher holds the ball, and 
now he let’s it go. 

And now the air is shattered by the force 
of Casey’s blow. 

Oh ! somewhere in this favored land the 
sun is shining bright, 

The band is playing somewhere and some¬ 
where hearts are light; 

And somewhere men are laughing and 
somewhere children shout 

But there’s no joy in Mudville—mighty 
Casey has struck out. 


“WHEN HULDY ’SPECTS HER BFMJ.” 

TEER you its mysterious 
At our house once a week— 

We know there’s somethin’ in the w '»d ; 
But we don’t dare to speak, 

For Sis just bosses ev’rything 
And says how it shall go. 

Oh, we all have so stan’ around 
When Hnldy ’spects her beau ! 

She crimps her hair an awful lot, 

And lights the parlor fire, 

And she’s so ’fraid we’ll spoil her dres*? 

She won’t let us come nigh her. 

Pa kinder chuckles to himself, 

And winks at me an’ Joe; 

But ma looks pretty serious 
When Huldy ’spects her beau. 





HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


I69 


At supper she’s “ no appetite,” 

But fixes up a plate 
Of apples, nuts and gingerbread— 

(She must eat awful late !) 

She does the dishes with a whew, 

And thinks the clock is slow. 

Things always have to hustle some, 
When Huldy ’spects her beau. 

She whisks us youngsters off to bed 
In strict big-sister style : 

O11 other evenin’s we sit up 
And play for quite a while. 

And we ain’t s’posed to see nor hear, 

Nor even want to know 
A single thing that’s goin’ on 
When Huldy ’spects her beau. 

But on the mornin’ after that, 

She’s always good as pie ; 

She helps ma with the cleanin’ up, 

She fastens gran’pa’s tie, 

She gives us lots of bread and jam, 

And sings so sweet and low, 

That on the whole we’re rather glad 
When Huldy ’spects her beau. 

Annie Prescott Bull. 


DER DRUMMER. 

German Dialect . 

W ho puts oup at der pest hotel, 

Und dakes his oysders on der schell, 
Und mit der frauleins cuts a schwell ? 
Der drummer. 

Who vas it gomes indo mine schtore, 

Drows down his pundles on de vloor, 

Und nefer schtops to shut der door ? 

Der drummer. 

Who dakes me py der handt, und say, 

“ Hans Pfeiffer, how you vas to-day ? ” 

Und goes vor peeseness righdt avay ? 

Der drummer. 

Who shpreads his zamples in a trice, 

Und dells me, “ Look, und see how nice?” 
Und says I gets “ der bottom price ? ” 

Der drummer. 

Who dells how sheap der goods vas bought, 
Mooch less as vot I gould imbort, 

But lets dem go as he vas ‘ ‘ short ? ’ ’ 

Der drummer. 


Who says der tings vas eggstra vine,— 

“ Vrom Sharmany, ubon der Rhine,”— 
Und sheats me den dimes oudt off nine? 
Der drummer. 

Who varrants all der goots to suit 
Der gustomers ubon his route , 

Und ven day gomes dey vas no goot ? 

Der drummer. 

Who comes aroundt ven I been oudt, 
Drinks oup mine bier, and eats mine kraut, 
Und kiss Katrina in der rnout’ ? 

Der drummer. 

Who, ven he gomes again dis vay, 

Vill hear vot Pfeiffer has to say, 

Und mit a plack eye goes avay ? 

Der drummer. 

Chas. F. Adams. 


PADDY’S REFLECTIONS ON CLEOPATRA’S 

NEEDLE. 

{Irish Dialect.) 

o that’s Cleopathera’s Naadle, bedad, 
An’ a quare lookin’ naadle it is, I’ll 
be bound ; 

What a powerful muscle the queen must, 
have had 

That could grasp such a weapon an’ wind 
it around ! 

Imagine her sittin’ there stichin’ like mad 

With a naadle like that in her hand ! I 
declare 

It’s as big as the Round Tower of Slane, 
an’, bedad, 

It would pass for a round tower, only it’s 
square ! 

The taste of her, ordherin’ a naadle of 
granite! 

Begorra, the sight of it shtrikes me quite 
dumb ! 

And look at the quare sort of figures 
upon it; 

I wondher can these be the thracks of 
her thumb? 

I once was astonished to hear of the faste 

Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 

I declare, I would not be surprised in the 
laste 





170 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


If ye told me the woman had swallowed 
a cow ! 

It’s easy to see why bould Caesar should 
quail 

In her presence an’ meekly submit to her 
rule; 

Wid a weapon like that in her fist I’ll go bail. 

She could frighten the soul out of big 
Finn MacCool! 

But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women 
are now, 

Compared with the monsthers they must 
have been then ! 

Whin the darlin’s in those days would kick 
up a row, 

Holy smoke, but it must have been hot 
for the men. 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin’ 
would start 

If his girl was to prod him with that in 
the shins ! 

I have often seen naadles, but bouldly 
assart 

That the naadle in front of me there takes 
the pins ! 

O, sweet Cleopathera ! I’m sorry you’re 
dead ; 

An’ whin lavin’ this wonderful naadle 
behind, 

Had ye thought of bequeathin’ a spool of 
yer thread 

And yer thimble an’ scissors, it would 
have been kind. 

But pace to your ashes, ye plague o’ great 
men. 

Yer strength is departed, yer glory is past; 

Ye’ll never wield .sceptre nor naadle again, 

And a poor little asp did yer bizness at 
last. 

Cormac O’Leary. 


BUCK FANSHAW’S FUNERAL. 

HERE was a grand time over Buck 
Fanshaw when he died. He was a 
representative citizen. On the in¬ 
quest it was shown that, in the delirium 
of a wasting typhoid fever, he had taken 
arsenic, shot himself through the body, cut 


his throat, and jumped out of a four-story 
window and broken his neck, and, after due 
deliberation, the jury, sad and tearful, but 
with intelligence unblinded by its sorrow, 
brought in a verdict of “ death by the visita¬ 
tion of Providence.” What could the world 
do without juries ! 

Prodigious preparations were made for 
the funeral. All the vehicles in town were 
hired, all the saloons were put in mourning, 
all the municipal fire company flags were 
hung at half-mast and all the firemen 
ordered to muster in uniform, and bring 
their machines duly draped in black. 

Regretful resolutions were passed and 
various committees appointed; among 
others, a committee of one was deputed to 
call on the minister — a fragile, gentle, 
spiritual new fledgling from an eastern theo¬ 
logical seminary, and as yet unacquainted 
with the ways of the mines. The commit¬ 
teeman, “ Scotty ” Briggs, made his visit. 

Being admitted to his presence, he sat 
down before the clergyman, placed his fire- 
hat on an unfinished manuscript sermon 
under the minister’s nose, took from it a red 
silk handkerchief,wiped his brow and heaved 
a sigh of dismal impressiveness, explanatory 
of business. He choked and even shed 
tears, but with an effort he mastered his 
voice, and said, in lugubrious tones: 

“Are you the duck that runs the gospel- 
mill next door ? ’ ’ 

“An I the—pardon me, I believe I do 
not understand.” 

With another sigh and a half sob, Scotty 
rejoined: 

‘ ‘ Why you see we are in a bit of trouble, 
and the boys thought maybe you’d give us 
a lift, if we’d tackle you, that is, if I’ve got 
the rights of it, and you’re the head clerk 
of the doxology works next door.” 

“ I am the shepherd in charge of the flock 
whose fold is next door.” 

“ The which l ’ ’ 

“The spiritual adviser of the little com¬ 
pany of believers whose sanctuary adjoins 
these premises.” 

Scotty scratched his head, reflected a 
moment, and then said : 

“You ruther hold over me, pard. I 
reckon I can’t call that card. Ante and 
pass the buck.” 




HUMOROUS AND DIALETIC 


“ How ? I beg your pardon. What did 
I understand you to say ? ” 

“Well, you’ve ruther got the bulge on 
me. Or maybe we’ve both got the bulge, 
somehow. You don’t smoke me and I 
don’t smoke you. You see one of the boys 
has passed in his checks, and we want to 
give him a good send off, and so the thing 
I’m on now is to roust out somebody to jerk 
a little chin-music for us, and waltz him 
through handsome.” 

“ My friend, I seem to grow more and 
more bewildered. Your observations are 
wholly incomprehensible to me. Can you 
not simplify them some way ? At first I 
thought perhaps I understood you, but I 
grope now. Would it not expedite matters 
if you restricted yourself to the categorical 
statements of fact unincumbered with ob¬ 
structing accumulations of metaphor and 
allegory ? ’ ’ 

Another pause and more reflection. 
Then Scotty said: “I’ll have to pass, I 
judge.” 

“ How?” 

“You’ve raised me out, pard.” 

“ I still fail to catch your meaning.” 

“Why, that last lead of your’n is too 
many for me — that’s the idea. I can’t 
neither trump nor follow suit.” 

The clergyman sank back in his chair 
perplexed. Scotty leaned his head on his 
hand, and gave himself up to reflection. 
Presently his face came up, sorrowful, but 
confident. 

“I’ve got it now, so’s you can savvy,” 
said he. “ What we want is a gospel-sharp. 
See?” 

‘ ‘ A what ? ’ ’ 

“ Gospel-sharp. Parson.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! Why did you not say so before ? 
I am a clergyman—a parson.” 

“ Now you talk ! You see my blind, and 
straddle it like a man. Put it there!”— 
extending a brawny paw, which closed over 
the minister’s small hand and gave it a 
shake indicative of fraternal sympathy and 
fervent gratification. 

“Take him all round, pard, there never 
was a bullier man in the mines- No man 
ever know’d Buck Fanshaw to go back on 
a friend. But it’s all up now, you know; 


171 

it’s all up. It ain’t no use. They’ve 
scooped him ! ’ ’ 

“ Scooped him ? ” 

“Yes — death has. Well, well, well, 
we’ve got to give him up. Yes, indeed. 
It’s a kind of a hard world after all, ain’t 
it ? But, pard, he was a rustler. You 
ought to see him get started once. He was 
a bully boy with a glass eye ! Just spit 
in his face, and give him room according 
to his strength, and it was just beautiful to 
see him peel and go in. He was the worst 
son of a thief that ever draw’d breath. 
Pard, he was on it. He was on it bigger 
than an injun.” 

“On it? On what?” 

“On the shoot. O11 the shoulder. On 
the fight. Understand ? He didn’t give a 
continental for cuv j/body. Beg your par¬ 
don, friend, for coming so near saying a 
cuss word—but you see I’m on an awful 
strain in this palaver, on account of having 
to cramp down and draw everything so mild. 
But we’ve got to give him up. There ain’t 
any getting around that, I don’t reckon. 
Now if we can get you to help plant 
him—” 

‘ ‘ Preach the funeral discourse ? Assist 
at the obsequies ? ’ ’ 

“ Obs’quies is good. Yes. That’s it; 
that’s our little game. We are going to get 
up the thing regardless, you know. He was 
always nifty himself, and so you bet you his 
funeral ain’t going to be no slouch ; solid 
silver door-plate on his coffin, six plumes 
on the hearse, and a nigger on the box, 
with a biled shirt and a plug hat on—how’s 
that for high ? And we’ll take care of you> 
pard. We’ll fix you all right. There will 
be a kerridge for you; and whatever you 
want you just ’scape out, and we’ll tend to 
it. We’ve got a shebang fixed up for you 
to stand behind in No. i’s house, and don’t 
you be afraid. Just go in and toot your 
horn, if you don’t sell a clam. Put Buck 
through as bully as you can, pard, for any¬ 
body that know’d him will tell you that he 
was one of the whitest men that was ever in 
the mines. You can’t draw it too strong 
to do him justice. Here once when the 
Micks got to throwing stones through the 
Methodist Sunday-school windows, Buck 
Fanshaw, all of his own notion, shut up 


172 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


his saloon, and took a couple of six- 
shooters and mounted guard over the Sun¬ 
day school. Says he, 4 No Irish need 
app\y.' And they didn’t. He was the 
bulliest man in the mountains, pard; he 
could run faster, jump higher, hit harder, 
and hold more tangle-foot whiskey with¬ 
out spilling it than any man in seventeen 
counties.—Put that in, pard ; it’ll please the 
boys more than anything you could say. 
And you can say, pard, that he never shook 
his mother.” 

“ Never shook his mother? ” 

“ That’s it—-any of the boys will tell you 
so.” 

“ Well, but why should he shake her? ” 

“ That’s what I say—but some people 
does.” 

“Not people of any repute? ” 

“ Well, some that averages pretty so-so.” 

“ In my opinion a man that would offer 
personal violence to his mother, ought 
to--” 

“Cheese it, pard; you’ve banked your 
ball clean outside the string. What I was 
a-drivin’ at was that he never throwed off 
on his mother—don’t you see? No indeedy! 
He give her a house to live in, and town 
lots, and plenty of money; and he looked 
after her and took care of her all the time; 
and when she was down with the small-pox, 
I’m cuss’d if he didn’t set up nights and 
nuss her himself! Beg your pardon for 
saying it, but it hopped out too quick for 
yours truly. You’ve treated me like a 
gentleman, and I ain’t the man to hurt your 
feelings intentional. I think you’re white. 

I think you’re a square man, pard. I like 
you, and I’ll lick any man that don’t. I’ll 
lick him till he can’t tell himself from a last 
year’s corpse. Put it there ! ” 

[Another fraternal handshake—and exit.] 

S. Iy. Clemens. 


LEEDLE YAWCOB STRAUSS 

German Dialect. 

I hae von funny leedle poy, 

Vot gomes schust to mine knee ; 

Der queerest schap, der createst rogue ; 
As efer you did see. 

He runs, und schumps, und schmashes 
tings 


In all barts off der house : 

But vot off dot ? he vas mine son, 

Mine leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He get der measles und der mumbs, 

Und eferyding dot’s oudt; 

He sbills mine glass off lager bier, 

Foots schnuff into mine kraut. 

He fills mine pipe mit Limburg cheese,— 
Dot was der roughest chouse : 

I’d dake dot vrom no oder poy 
But leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, 

Und cuts mine cane in dwo, 

To make der schticks to beat it mit,— 
Mine cracious, dot vas drue ! 

I dinks mine hed vas schplit abart, 

He kicks oup sooch a touse : 

But nefer mind ; der poys vas few 
Like dot young Yawcob Strauss. 

He asks me questions such as dese : 

Who baints mine nose so red ? 

Who vas it cut dot schmoodth blace oudt 
Vrom der hair ubon mine hed ? 

Und vhere der plaze goes vrom der lamp 
Vene’erder glim I douse. 

How gan I all dose dings eggsblain 
To dot schmall Yawcob Strauss ? 

I somediraes dink I schall go vild 
Mit sooch a grazy poy, 

Und vish vonce more I gould haf rest, 
Und beaceful dimes enshoy ; 

But ven he was ashleep in bed, 

So guiet as a mouse, • 

I prays der Lord, “ Dake anyding, 

But leaf dot Yawcob Strauss.” 

Charles F. Adams. 


HANS AND FRITZ. 

German Dialect. 

XT ans and Fritz were two Deutsehers who 
-L-J- lived side by side, 

Bemote from the world, its deceit 
and its pride: 

With their pretzels and beer the spare 
moments were spent, 

And the fruits of their labor were peace 
and content. 




HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


i 73 


Hans purchased a horse of a neighbor one 
day, 

And, lacking a part of the Geld, ,—as they 
say,— 

Made a call upon Fritz to solicit a loan 

To help him to pay for his beautiful roan. 

Fritz kindly consented the money to lend, 

And gave the required amount to his 
friend; 

Remarking—-his own simple language to 
quote— 

“ Berhaps it yas bedder ve make us a note.” 

The note was drawn up in their primitive 
way,— 

“ I Hans, gets from Fritz feefty tollars 
to-day ; 

When the question arose, the note being 
made, 

" Vich von holds dot baper until it vas 
baid? ” 

“You geeps dot,” says Fritz, “und den 
you vill know 

You owes me dot money.” Says Hans, 
“ Dot ish so : 

Dot makes me remempers I haf dot to bay, 

Und I prings you der note und der money 
some day.” 

A month had expired, when Hans, as 
agreed, 

Paid back the amount, and from debt he 
was freed, 

Says Fritz, “Now dot settles us.” Hans 
replies, “ Yaw : 

Now who dakes dot baper accord ings by 
law ? * 

“ I geeps dot now, aind’t it ? ” says Fritz ; 
“ den you see, 

1 alvays remempers you paid dot to me.” 

Says Plans, “ Dot ish so : it was now shust 
so blain, 

Dot I knows vot to do ven I porrows 
again.” 

Chafxes F. Adams. 


THE DYING CONFESSION OF PADDY 

ricCABE. 

Irish Dialect. 

addy McCabe was dying one day, 

And Father Molloy he came to confess 
him; 


Paddy prayed hard he would make no 
delay, 

But forgive him his sins and make haste 
for to bless him. 

“ First tell me your sins,” says Father 
Molloy, 

“ For I’m thinking you've not been a very 
good boy.” 

“ Oh,” says Paddy, “ so late in the evenin’ 
I fear 

’Twould trouble you such a long story to 
hear, 

For you’ve ten long miles o’er the mount* 
ain to go, 

While the road I've to travel’s much longer, 
you know : 

So give us your blessin’ and get in the 
saddle; 

To tell all my sins my poor brain would 
addle ; 

And the docthor gave orthers to keep me so 
quiet— 

’Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I’d 
thry it— ' 

And your Reverence has towld us unless we 
tell all 

’Tis worse than not making’ confession 
at all: 

So I’ll say, in a word, I’m nc very good 
boy, 

And therefore your blessin’, sweet Father 
Molloy.” 

“Well, I’ll read from a book,” says 
Father Molloy, 

“The manifold sins that humanity’s 
heir to ; 

And when you hear those that your con¬ 
science annoy, 

You’ll just squeeze my hand, as ac¬ 
knowledging thereto.” 

Then the Father began the dark roll of 
iniquity, 

And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience 
grow rickety, 

And he gave such a squeeze that the priest 
gave a roar. 

“Oh, murther,” says Paddy, “ don’t read 
any more; 

For if you keep readin’, by all that is 
thrue, 




174 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC . 


Your Reverence’s fist will be soon black and 
blue ; 

Besides, to be troubled my conscience 
begins, 

That your Reverence should have any hand 
in my sins. 

So you’d better suppose I committed them 
all— 

For whether they’re great ones, or whether 
they’re small, 

Or if they’re a dozen, or if they’re four¬ 
score, 

’Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve 
them, asthore. 

So I’ll say, in a word, I’m no very good boy, 

And therefore your blessin’, sweet Father 
Molloy.” 

“ Well,” says Father Molloy, “ your sins I 
forgive, 

So you must forgive all your enemies 
truly, 

And promise me also that, if you should 
live, 

You’ll leave off your old tricks, and 
begin to live newly.” 

“I forgive ev’ry body,” says Pat,, with a 
groan, 

“ Except that big vagabone, Micky Malone; 

And him I will murdher if ever I can—” 

“ Tut, tut!” says the priest, “ you’re a very 
bad man ; 

For without your forgiveness, and also 
repentance, 

You’ll ne’er go to heaven, and that is my 
sentence.” 

“Pooh!” says Paddy McCabe, “that’s a 
very hard case, 

With your Reverence in heaven I’m content 
to make peace; 

But with heaven and your Reverence I 
wonder— och hone , 

You would think of comparin’ that black¬ 
guard Malone. 

But since I’m hard pressed, and that I must 
forgive, 

I forgive—if I die ; but as sure as I live 

That ugly blackguard I will surely de- 
sthro} !— 

So now for your blessin’, sweet Father 

Molloy I” 

Samuel Cover. 


MOLLIE’S LITTLE RAH. 

Parody on “ Mary's Little Lamb.” 
oleiE had a little ram as black as a 
rubber shoe, and everywhere that 
Mollie went he emigrated too. 

He went with her to church one day—the 
folks hilarious grew, to see him walk 
demurely into Deacon Allen’s pew. 

The worthy deacon quickly let his angry 
passions rise, and gave it an un-Christian 
kick between the sad brown eyes. 

This landed rammy in the aisle ; the dea¬ 
con followed fast, and raised his foot again ; 
alas ! that first kick was his last. 

For Mr. Sheep walked slowly back, about 
a rod ’tis said, and ere the deacon could 
retreat, it stood him on his head. 

The congregation then arose, and went 
for that ere sheep. Several well directed 
butts just piled them in a heap- 

Then rushed they all straight for the door 
with curses long and loud, while rammy 
struck the hindmost man, and shoved him 
through the crowd. 

The minister had often heard that kind¬ 
ness would subdue the fiercest beast. 
“Aha!” he said, I’ll try that game on 
you.” 

And so he gently, kindly called • “Come 
Rammy, Rammy, Ram ; to see the folks 
abuse you so, I grieved and sorry am ! ” 

With kind and gentle words he came from 
that tall pulpit down, saying, “Rammy, 
Rammy, Ram—best sheep in the town.” 

The ram quite dropped his humble air, 
and rose from off his feet, and the parson 
lit, he was beneath the hindmost seat. 

As he shot out the door, and closed it 
with a slam, he named a California town. 
I think ’twas Yuba-Dam. 


HANIFEST DESTINY. 

anifest destiny iz the science ov going 
tew bust, or enny other place before 
yu git thare. I may be rong in this 
centiment, but that iz the way it strikes me; 
and i am so put together that when enny 
thing strikes me i immejiately strike back. 
Manifest destiny mite perhaps be blocked 
out agin as the condishun that man and 
things find themselfs in with a ring in their 
nozes and sumboddy hold ov the ring. I 





HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


l 7?> 


may be rong agin, but if i am, awl i have 
got tew sa iz, i don’t kno it, and what a 
man don't kno ain’t no damage tew enny 
boddy else. The tru way that manifess 
destiny had better be sot down iz, the exact 
distance that a frog kan jump down hill 
with a striped snake after him ; i don’t kno 
but i may be rong onst more, but if the 
frog don’t git ketched the destiny iz jist 
what he iz a looking for. 

When a man falls into the bottom ov a 
well and makes up hiz minde tew stay thar. 
that ain’t manifess destiny enny more than 
having yure hair cut short iz ; but if he 
almoste gits out and then falls down in agin 
sixteen foot deeper and brakes off hiz neck 
twice in the same plase and dies and iz 
buried thare at low water, that iz manifess 
destiny on the square. Standing behind a 
cow in fly time and gitting kicked twice at 
one time, must feel a good deal like mani¬ 
fess destiny. Being about ten seckunds tew 
late tew git an express train, and then 
chasing the train with yure wife, and an 
umbreller in yure hands, in a hot day, and 
not getting az near tew the train az you 
waz when started, looks a lee tie like mani¬ 
fess destiny on a rale rode trak. Going 
into a tempranse house and calling for a 
little old Bourbon on ice, and being told in 
a mild way that “the Bourbon iz jist out, 
but they hav got sum gin that cost seventy- 
two cents a gallon in Paris,” sounds tew 
me like the manifess destiny ov moste 
tempranse houses. 

Mi dear hearers, don’t beleave in manifess 
destiny until you see it. Thar is such a 
thing az manifess destiny, but when it 
occurs it iz like the number ov rings on the 
rakoon’s tale, ov no great consequense only 
for ornament. Manifess destiny iz a dis- 
seaze, but it iz eazy tew heal; i have seen 
it in its wust stages cured bi sawing a cord 
ov dri hickory wood. I thought i had it 
onse, it broke out in the shape ov poetry; 
i sent a specimen! ov the disseaze tew a 
magazine, the magazine man wrote me next 
day az follers, 

“ Dear Sir : Yu may be a phule, but you 
are no poeck. Yures, in haste. 

the Edetur.” 

Josh Busings. 


THE COMET. 

A mong professors of astronomy, 

Adepts in the celestial economy, 

The name of Herschel’s very ofteo 
cited; 

And justly so, for he is hand in glove 
With every bright intelligence above, 
Indeed, it was his custom so to stop, 
Watching the stars, upon the house’s top ; 
That once upon a time he got benighted 

In his observatory thus coquetting 
With Venus or with Juno gone astray, 
All sublunary matters quite forgetting 
In his flirtations with the winking stars, 
Acting the spy, it might be, upon Mars,— 
A new Andre; 

Or, like a Tom of Coventry, sly peeping 
At Dian sleeping; 

Or ogling through his glass 
Some heavenly lass, 

Tripping with pails along the Milky way ; 
Or looking at that wain of Charles, the 
Martyr’s. 

Thus was he sitting, watchman of the sky, 
When lo ! a something with a tail of flame 
Made him exclaim, 

My stars ! ’ ’—he always puts that stress 
on my ,— 

‘ ‘ My stars and garters ! 

“ A comet, sure as I’m alive ! 

A noble one as I should wish to view ; 

It can’t be Halley’s though, that is not 
due 

Till eighteen thirty-five. 

Magnificent ! How fine his fiery trail! 
Zounds! ’tis a pity, though, he comes 
unsought, 

Unasked, unreckoned,—in no human 
thought; 

He ought—he ought—he ought 
To have been caught 
With scientific salt upon his tail. 

“ I looked no more for it, I do declare, 
Than the Great Bear ! 

As sure as Tycho Brahe is dead, 

It really entered in my head 
No more than Berenice’s hair! ” 

Thus musing, heaven’s grand inquisitor 
Sat gazing on the uninvited visitor, 

Till John, the serving man, came to the 
upper 


176 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


Regions, with. “ Please your honor, come 
to supper. ’ ’ 

“Supper! good John, to-night I shall not 
sup, 

Except on that phenomenon—look up.” 

“Not sup!” cried John, thinking with 
consternation 

That supping on a star must be star-v ation, 

Or even to batten 

O11 ignes fatui would never fatten. 

His visage seemed to say, 4 ‘ that very odd is, ” 
But still his master the same tune ran on, 
“I can’t come down; go to the parlor, 
John, 

And say I’m supping with the heavenly 
bodies. ’ ’ 

“The heavenly bodies!” echoed John, 
“ ahem ! ” 

His mind still full of famishing alarms, 

“ Zounds ! if your honor sups with them , 

In helping, somebody must make long 
arms.” 

He thought his master’s stomach was in 
danger, 

But still in the same tone replied the 
knight, 

“ Go down, John, go, I have no appetite ; 

Say I’m engaged with a celestial stranger.” 

Quoth John, not much an fait in such 
affairs, 

“ Wouldn’t the stranger take a bit down 
stairs ? ’ ’ 

‘No,” said the master, smiling, and no 
wonder, 

At such a blunder, 

‘ ‘ The stranger is not quite the thing you 
think; 

Pie wants no meat or drink ; 

And one may doubt quite reasonably whether 
He has a mouth, 

Seeing his head and tail are joined together. 
Behold him ! there he is, John, in the 
south. ” 

John looked up with his portentous eyes, 
Each rolling like a marble in its socket; 

At last the fiery tadpole spies, 

And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries, 

4 4 A rare good rocket! ’ ’ 

44 A what ? A rocket, John ! Far from it! 

What you behold, John, is a comet; 


One of those most eccentric things 
That in all ages 
Have puzzled sages 
And frightened kings ; 

With fear of change, that flaming meteor, 
John, 

Perplexes sovereigns throughout its 
range.” 

4 4 Do he ? ” cried John ; 

44 Well, let him flare on, 

/ haven’t got no sovereigns to change ! ’* 

Thomas Hood. 


OL’ PICKETT’S NELL. 

This poem should be recited by a young man dressed in the 
roughest kind of farmer’s clothing. He should manage to convey 
to his audience through a very awkward exterior an air of deep 
sincerity 

F EED more ’an ever like a fool 

Sence Pickett’s Nell come back from 
school, 

She oncet wuz twelve ’nd me eighteen 
(’Nd better friends you never seen) ; 

But now—oh, my ! 

She’s dressed so fine, ’nd growed so tall, 
’Nd l’arnin’—she jes knows it all, 

She's eighteen now, but I’m so slow 
I’m whar I wuz six year ago. 

Six year! Waal, waal ! doan’t seem a 
week 

Sence we rode Dolly to th’ creek, 

’Nd fetched th’ cattle home at night, 

Her hangin’ to my jacket tight. 

But now—oh, my ! 

She rides in Pickett’s new coopay 
Jes like she’d be’n brung up thet way, 

’Nd lookin’ like a reg’lar queen— 

Th’ mostest like / ever seen. 

She uster tease ’nd tease ’nd tease 
Me fer to take her on my knees ; 

Then tired me out ’ith Marge’y Daw, 

’Nd lafiin tell my throat wuz raw. 

But now—0I1, my ! 

She sets up this way—kinder proud, 

’Nd never noways laughs out loud. 

You w’u’dn’t hardly think thet she 
Pled ever see-sawed on my knee. 

’Nd sometimes, ef at noon I’d choose 
To find a shady place ’nd snooze, 

I’d wake with burdocks in my hair 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


l 77 


’Nd elderberries in my ear. 

But now—oh, my ! 

Somebody said (’twuz yesterday) : 

“ Let’s hev some fun w’ile Ned’s away ; 
Let’s turn his jacket inside out!” 

But Nell—she’d jes turn red ’nd pout. 

’Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin’-like, 
A-throwin’ akerns in th’ dike, 

She put her arms clean round my head, 

’Nd whispered soft, “ I like you, Ned 
But now—oh, my ! 

She curteseyed so stiff ’nd grand, 

’Nd never oncet held out her hand, 

’Nd called me “ Mister Edward !” Laws ! 
Thet ain’t my name ’nd never wuz. 

’Nd them ’at knowed ’er years ago 
Jes laughed to see ’er put on so ; 

Coz it wuz often talked, ’nd said 
“ Nell Pickett’s jes cut out fer Ned.” 

But now—oh, my ! 

She held her purty lied so high, 

’Nd skasely saw me go in’ by— 

I wu’d’nt dast (afore last night) 
A-purposely come near her sight 

Last night !—Ez I wuz startin’ out 
To git th’ cows, I lieerd a shout; 

’Nd sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar, 
A-settin’ on ol’ Pickett’s mar’; 

’Nd then—oh, my ! 

She said she’d cried fer all th’ week 
To take th’ ol’ ride to th’ creek ; 

Then talked about ol’ times, ’nd said, 

‘ ‘ Them days wuz happy, wa’nt they, Ned ?’ ’ 

Ph’ folks wuz talkin’ ev’rywliars 
Bout her a-puttin’ on sech airs, 

’Nd seemed t’ me like they wuz right, 
A-fore th’ cows come home last night. 

But now—oh, myl 

Mather Dean Kimbarr. 


ADMIRAL VON DIEDERICHS. 

German Dialect. 

During the Spanish American war while Admiral, then Com¬ 
modore, Dewey was blockading the city of Manila, the German 
Admiral, von Diederichs, on more than one occasion manifested 
acts of discourtesy and threatened hostility. Finally Dewey sent 
him a peremtory message, warningagainst further manifestations 
of an unfriendly character and closing with the sentence : “ If you 
want a fight you can get it in five minutes." The following 
admonitory lines we-e inspired by the event: 

A ch, Admiral von Diederichs, 

I van to sbeak mit you ; 

Yust lisden fer a leedle und 
12 H 


I'll tell you vot to do ; 

Sail from dein Phitypeanut-s isles 
A thousand miles aboud— 

Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 
Uf you doan’d vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Der Kaiser was a peach, 

I’m villing to atmit id, bud 
Dare’s udders on der beach. 

So, darefore, dot’s der reason vy, 
Doan’d let your head get stoud, 

Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 
Uf you doan’d vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vot pitzness liaf you got 
In loafing py Manila ven 
Der heat-vaves are so hot ? 

Vy doan’d you yust oxcoos yourself 
Und durn your shibs aboud— 

Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 
Uf you doan’d vatch ouid ! 

Ach, Admiral von Diederichs, 

Vy vill you be a clams ? 

Go ged some udder islands vich 
Are not old Uncle Sam’s, 

Yust wrote to Kaiser Wilhelm, yet, 
Und dell him dare’s no douid, 

Fer dot Dewey man vill got you 
Uf you doan’d vatch ouid ! 

G. V. PIOBART. 


AN APOSTROPHE TO AGUINALDO. 

The author of the following lines was one of the many who 
warned Aguinaldo of the futility of his resistance to the United 
States. This selection may easily be converted into an amusing 
scene by having the reciter dressed as a U. S. soldier to the Philip¬ 
pines and another much smaller painted brown and dressed to 
represent Aguinaldo. The speaker should be very positive and 
sarcastic in his tone and Aguinaldo appear stolidly indifferent. 

S ay, Aguinaldo, 

You little measly 
Malay moke, 

What’s the matter with you ? 

Don’t you know enough 
To know 

That when you don’t see 
Freedom, 

Inalienable rights, 

The American Eagle, 

The Fourth of July, 

The Star Spangled Banner, 

And the Palladium of your Liberties, 




1 7 S 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


All you’ve got to do is to ask for them ? 

Are you a natural born chump 

Or did you catch it from the Spaniards ? 

You ain’t bigger 

Than a piece of soap 

After a day’s washing 

But, by gravy, you 

Seem to think 

You’re a bigger man 

Than Uncle Sam. 

You ought to be shrunk 
Young fellow ; 

And if you don’t 
Demalayize yourself 
At an early date, 

And catch on 

To your golden, glorious opportunities, 
Something’s going to happen to you 
Like a Himalaya 
Sitting down kerswot 
On a gnat. 

If you ain’t 
A yellow dog 
You’ll take in your sign 
And scatter 

Some Red, White and Blue 

Disinfectant 

Over yourself. 

What you need, Aggie, 

Is civilizing. 

And goldarn 

Your yallerpercoon-skin, 

We’ll civilize you 
Dead or alive. 

You’d better 
Fall into the 
Procession of Progress 
And go marching on to glory, 

Before you fall 

Into a hole in the ground. 

Understand ? 

That’s us— 

U. S. 


THE DRUMMER. 

Amusing reading when Drummers are present. Read in a 
plain deliberate style. 

T he drummer inhabits railroad trains. 
He is always at home on the cars. 
He is usually swung to a satchel con¬ 
taining a comb and brush, another shirt, a 
clean celluloid collar and a pair of cuffs ; 


also a railroad guide, and a newspaper 
wrapped around a suspicious-looking bottle. 
That is about all the personal baggage he 
carries, except a “ Seaside Library ” novel 
and a pocket-knife with a corkscrew at the 
back of it. He has a two-story, iron-bound 
trunk, containing “ sambles of dem goots,” 
which he checks through to the next town. 
He always travels for a first-class house— 
the largest firm in their line of business in 
the United States, a firm that sells more 
goods, and sells them cheaper, than any two 
houses in the country. He is very modest 
about stating these facts, and blushes when 
he makes the statement; but he makes it, 
nevertheless, probably as a matter of duty. 

He can talk on any subject, although he 
may not know much about it, but what 
little he knows he knows, and he lets you 
know that he knows it. He may be giving 
his views on the financial policy of the Brit¬ 
ish government, or he may only be telling 
you of what, in his opinion, is good for a 
boil, but he will do it with an air and a tone 
that leaves the matter beyond dispute. 

When the drummer gets into a railroad 
train, if alone, he occupies only two seats. 
One he sits on, and on the other he piles up 
his baggage and overcoat and tries to look 
as if they didn’t belong to him, but to 
another man who has just stepped into the 
smoking-car and would be back directly. 

Drummers are usually found in pairs or 
quartettes on the cars. They sit together in 
a double seat, with a valise on end between 
them, on which they play euchre and other 
sinful games. When they get tired of play¬ 
ing they go into the smoking-car, where the 
man who is traveling for a distillery ‘ ‘ sets 
’em up ” out of his sample-case, and for an 
hour or two they swop lies about the big 
bills of goods they have sold in the last town 
they were in, tell highly-seasoned stories 
about their personal adventures and exhibit 
to each other the photograph of the last girl 
they made impressions on. 

While the drummer is not ostentatiously 
bashful, neither does he assume any out¬ 
ward show of religion. His great love of 
truth is, however, one of his strong points, 
and he is never known to go beyond actual 
facts, except in the matter of excessive bag¬ 
gage. 



humorous and dialectic 


% 


179 


The drummer always gets the best room 
in the hotel. He is the most popular man 
with the waiters in the dining room though 
he finds most fault with them. He flirts 
with the chamber maids, teases the boot 
blacks and shows an utterely sublime con¬ 
tempt for the regnlar boarders. He goes 
to bed at a late hour, and sleeps so soundly 
that the porter wakes up the people for two 
blocks around and shakes the plaster off the 
wall in trying to communicate to him the 
fact that the ’bus for the 4.20 A. m. train 
will start in ten minutes. 

The drummer has much to worry and fret 
him. Traveling at night to save time, 
sleeping in a baggage-car or the caboose of 
a freight train, with nothing but his ear for 
a pillow, bumping over rough roads on 
stages and buck-boards, living on corn- 
bread and coffee dinners in cross-road 
hotels, yet under all these vexatious cir¬ 
cumstances he is usually good-humored and 
in the best of spirits, although he sometimes 
expresses his feelings regarding the discom¬ 
forts of travel, and the toughness of a beef¬ 
steak, or the solidity of a biscuit, in language 
that one would never think of attributing to 
the author of Watts’ hymns. 

All kinds of improbable stories are told 
about drummers, some of them being almost 
as improbable as the stories they themselves 
tell. For instance, we once heard that a 
man saw a drummer in the piny woods of 
North Carolina camping out under an um¬ 
brella. 

‘ ‘ What are you doing here ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I am camping and living on spruce- 
gum to save expenses,” replied the drum¬ 
mer. 

‘ ‘ What are you doing that for ? ' ’ 

“ To bring up the average.” 

It seems that the firm allowed him a cer¬ 
tain sum per day for expenses, and by riot¬ 
ous living he had gone far beyond his daily 
allowance. By camping out under an um¬ 
brella and living on spruce-gum for a few 
days the expense would be so small as to 
offset the previous excess he had been 
guilty of. This story is probably a fabri¬ 
cation. 

The chief end and aim of the drummer is 
to sell goods, tell anecdotes and circulate 
the latest fashionable slang phrase. If he 


understands his business, the country mer¬ 
chant may as well capitulate at once. There 
is no hope too forlorn, nor any country 
merchant too surly or taciturn for the drum¬ 
mer to tackle. A merchant not long ago 
loaded up a double-barreled shotgun with 
nails, with the intention of vaccinating the 
first drummer who entered his store. The 
commercial emissary has been talking to 
him only fifteen minutes. In that time he 
has told the old man four good jokes, paid 
him five compliments on his business and 
shrewdness, propounded two conundrums 
and came very near telling the truth once. 
As a result, the sanguinary old man is in 
excellent humor, and just about to make 
out an order for $500 -worth of goods that 
he doesn’t actually need, and then will go 
out and take a drink with the drummer. 

The drummer is the growth of this fast 
age. Without him the car of commerce 
would creak slowly along. 

Fie is an energetic and genial cuss, and 
we hope that he will appreciate this notice 
and the fact that we have suppressed "an 
almost uncontrollable impulse to say some¬ 
thing about his cheek. 

‘ ‘ Texas Siftings . ’ ’ 


THEN AG’IN— 

Droll reflections. To be spoken in a countryman’s philoso¬ 
phic, meditative way. The speaker might have a stick in his 
hand and whittle it with a knife, pausing as if in deep reflection 
before beginning the last four lines in each stanza. 

J im Bowker, he said ef he’d had a fail- 
show, 

And a big enough town for his talents 
to grow, 

And the least bit of assistance in hoin ’ his 
row, 

Jim Bowker, he said, 

He’d fill the world full of the sound of his 
name, 

An’ clime the top round in the ladder of 
fame. 

It may have been so , 

I dunno: 

Jest so, it might a-been ! 

Then ag’in- 

But he had dreadful luck ; everythin’ went 
ag’in him, 

The arrers ef fortune, they alius ’ud pin 
him; 







i$o 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


So be didn’t get a chance to show what was 
in him. 

Jim Bowker, he said, 

Ef he’d had a fair show, you couldn’t tell 
where he’d come, 

An’ the feats he’d a-done, and the heights 
he’d a—dumb. 

It may have been so, 

I dunno: 

Jest so, it might a-been ; 

Then ag’in- 

But we’re all like Jim Bowker, thinks I, 
more or less, 

Charge fate for our bad luck, ourselves for 
success, 

An’ give fortune the blame for all our dis¬ 
tress. 

As Jim Bowker, he said, 

Ef it hadn’t been for luck and misfortune 
and sich, 

We might a-been famous, and might a-been 
rich. 

It might be jest so ; 

I dunno, 

Jest so, it might a-been ; 

Then ag’in- 


flARC ANTHONY’S ORIGINAL ORATION. 

A burlesque parody on Shakespeare. The speaker should 
assume the solemn style of Marc Anthony in his funeral oration. 

Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend 
me your ears ;—• 

I will return them next Saturday, I come 
To bury Caesar,—because the times are 
hard, 

And his folks can’t afford to hire an under¬ 
taker. 

The evil that men do lives after them,—- 
In the shape of progeny who reap the 
Benefit of their life insurance,— 

So let it be with the deceased. 

Brutus hath told you Caesar was ambitious. 
What does Brutus know about it ? 

It is none of his funeral. Would that it 
were ! 

Here under leave of you I come to 
Make a speech at Caesar’s funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just tome,— 
He loaned me $5 once when I was in a pinch, 
And signed my petition for a post-office,— 


But Brutus says he was ambitious 
Brutus should wipe off his chin. 

Caesar hath brought many captives home to 
Rome,— 

Who broke rocks on the streets until theii 
ransoms 

Did the general coffers fill. 

When that the poor hath cried, Caesar hath 
wept— 

Because it didn’t cost anything and 
Made him solid with the masses. 

Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious. 

Brutus is a liar, and I can prove it. 

You all did see that on the Lupercal 
I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
Which he did thrice refuse, because it did 
not fit him quite. 

Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus says he 
was ambitious. 

Brutus is not only the biggest liar in the 
country, 

But he is a horse thief of the deepest dye. 

If you have any tears, prepare to shed them 
now. 

You all do know this ulster. 

I remember the first time Csesar put it on ; 
It was on a summer evening in his tent, 
With the thermometer registering 90 in the 
shade 

But it was an ulster to be proud of, 

And cost him $7 at Marcaius Swartzmeyer’s 
Corner of Broad and Ferry streets, sign of 
the red flag. 

Old Swartz wanted $40 for it, 

But finally came down to $7, because it was 
Csesar 

Was this ambitious ? If Brutus says it was 
He is a greater liar—than any one present. 
Look ! in this place ran Cassius’ dagger 
through, 

Through this the son of a gun of a Brutus 
stabbed, 

And when he plucked his cursed steel 
away, 

Marc Anthony, how the blocd of Caesar 
followed it ! 

I come not, friends, to steal away you* 
hearts ; 

I am no thief, as Brutus is. 

Brutus has a monopoly on all that business, 
And if he had his deserts he would be 

In the penitentiary, and. don’t you forget it 





HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


181 


Kind friends, sweet friends, I do not wish 
to stir you up 
To such a flood of mutiny. 

And as it looks like rain, 

The pall bearers will please place the coffin 
in the hearse, 

And we will proceed to bury Csesar, 

Not to praise him. 


COUNTING EGGS. 

Read or recite in a deliberate, conventional style, observing to 
Imitate the voice and manner proper to the lady and the old 
oegro in their respective parts, 

O LD Moses, who sells eggs and chickens 
on the streets of Austin for a living, 
is as honest an old negro as ever lived; 
but he has the habit of chatting familiarily 
with his customers, hence he frequently 
makes mistakes in counting out the eggs 
they buy. He carries his wares around in 
a small cart drawn by a diminutive donkey. 
He stopped in front of the residence of Mrs. 
Samuel Burton. The old lady herself came 
out to the gate to make the purchase, and 
the following conversation ensued : 

“ Have you any eggs this morning, Uncle 
Moses ?” she asked. 

“ Yes, indeed, I has. Jess got in ten 
dosen from de kentry.” 

“ Are they fresh ?” 

“ Fresh ? Yas, indeed ! I guarantees ’em, 
an’—an’— de hen guarantees’m.” 

“I’ll take nine dozen. You can count 
them into this basket.” 

“ All right, mum ; ” he counts, “ One, 
two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight, nine, 
ten. You can rely on them bein’ fresh. 
How's your son cornin’ on de school? He 
must be mos’ grown.” 

“ Yes, Uncle Moses ; he is a clerk in a 
bank in Galveston.” 

“ Why, how ole am de boy ?’ 

“ He is eighteen.” 

“You don’t tole me so ! Eighteen, and 
getting a salary already ! Eighteen ( count¬ 
ing ,) nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty- 
two, twenty-three, twenty-foah, twenty-five. 
And how’s your gal cornin’ on? She was 
most growed up de last time I seed her.” 

“ She is married and living in Dallas.” 

“ Wall’ I declar’; how time shoots away. 
And you say she has childruns ? Why how 
ole am de gal ? She must be jest about—” 
“ Thirty-three.” 


“Am dat so?” (Counting!) “ Firty- 
free, firty-foah, firty-five, firty-six, firty- 
seben, firty-eight, firty-nine, forty, forty-one, 
forty-two, forty-free. Hit am singular dat 
you has such ole childruns. You don’t 
look more den forty years old j^erseff.” 

“Nonsense, old man; I see you want to 
flatter me. When a person gets to be fifty- 
three years old—” 

“Fifty-free! I jess dun gwinter bleeve 
hit; fifty-free, fifty-foah, fifty-five, fifty six— 
I want you to pay ’tenshun when I count de 
eggs, so dar’ll be no mistake—fifty-nine, 
sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-free, sixty- 
foali. Whew ! Dis am a warm day. Dis 
am de time ob year when I feels I’se gettin’ 
ole myself; I ain’t long fur dis world. You 
comes from an ole family. When your 
fadder died he was sebenty years ole.” 

“ Seventy-two.” 

“ Dat’s old, suah. Sebenty-two, sebenty- 
free, sebenty-foah, sebenty-five, sebenty-six, 
sebenty-seben, sebendy-eight, sebenty-nine. 
And your mudder? she was one ob de 
noblest lookin’ ladies I ebber see. You 
remind me ob her so much ! She libed to 
mos’ a hundred. I bleeves .she was done 
past a centurion when she died.” 

“ No, Uncle Moses ; she was only ninety- 
six when she died.” 

“Den she wan’t no chicken when she 
died, I know dat. Ninety-six, ninety-seben, 
ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one, 
two, free, foah, five, six, seben, eight—dar, 
one hundred and eight nice fresh eggs—jess 
nine dozen, and here am foah moah eggs in 
case I have discounted myself.” 

Old Moses went on his way rejoicing. A 
few days afterward Mrs. Burton said to her 
husband: 

“ I am afraid we will have to discharge 
Matilda. I am satisfied that she steals the 
milk and eggs. I am positive about the 
eggs, for I bought them day before yester¬ 
day, and now about half of them are gone. 
I stood right there, and heard Moses count 
them myself, and there were nine dozen,” 

“ Texas Siftings.” 

THE BABY’S FIRST TOOTH. 

r. and Mrs. Jones had just finished 
their breakfast. Mr. Jones had 
pushed back his chair and was 




182 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


looking under the lounge for his boots. 
Mrs. Jones sat at the table holding the infant 
Jones and mechanically working her fore¬ 
finger in its mouth. Suddenly she paused 
in the motion, threw the astonished child 
on its back, turned as white as a sheet, 
pried open its mouth, and immediately 
gasped “ Ephraim ! ” Mr. Jones, who was 
yet on his knees with his head under the 
lounge, at once came forth, rapping his 
head sharply on the side of the lounge as 
she did so, and, getting on his feet, inquired 
what was the matter. “O Ephraim,” said 
she, the tears rolling down her cheeks and 
the smiles coursing up. “ Why, what is it, 
Aramathea?” said the astonished Mr. 
Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it 
had come in contact with the lounge. 
'‘Baby!” she gasped. Mr. Jones turned 
pale and commenced to sweat. “Baby! 
O, 0,0 Ephraim ! Baby has—baby has 
got—a little toothey, oh ! oh ! ” 44 No ! ” 

screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs 
apart, dropping his chin and staring at the 
struggling heir with all'his might. “ I tell 
you it is,” persisted Mrs. Jones, with a 
slight evidence of hysteria. “ Oh, it can’t 
be!” protested Mr. Jones, preparing to 
swear if it wasn’t. “ Come here and see 
for yourself,” said Mrs. Jones. “ Open its 
’ittle mousy-wousy for its own muzzer; 
that’s a toody-woody ; that’s a blessed ’ittle 
’ump o’ sugar.” Thus conjured, the heir 
opened its mouth sufficiently for the father 
to thrust in his finger, and that gentleman 
having convinced himself by the most 
unmistakable evidence that a tooth was 
there, immediately kicked his hat across the 
room, buried his fist in the lounge, and 
declared with much feeling that he could 
lick the individual who would dare to inti¬ 
mate that he was not the happiest man on 
the face of the earth. Then he gave Mrs. 
Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and 
snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed 
tremblingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who 
lived next door. In a moment Mrs. Sim¬ 
mons came tearing in as if she had been 
shot out of a gun, and right behind her 
came Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated 
that she had been ejected from two guns. 
Mrs. Simmons at once snatched the heir 
from the arms of Mr. Tones and hurried it 


to the window, where she made a careful 
and critical examination of its mouth, while 
Mrs. Jones held its head and Mr. Jones 
danced up and down the room, and snapped 
his fingers to show how calm he was. It 
having been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons 
that the tooth was a sound one, and also 
that the strongest hopes for its future could 
be entertained on account of its coming in 
the new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out 
the necessary material and Mr. Jones at 
once proceeded to write seven different 
letters to as many persons, unfolding to 
them the event of the morning and inviting 
them to come on as soon as possible.— 

“ Danbury News Man.” 


A SERENADE TO SPRING. 

Negro Dialect. 

Imitate the voice of the frog and cricket, and the swishing hiss 
of the snake, where they are made to speak. 

t i T~\E fus’ spring frog blow de mud fum 
JL J his eyes. 

En peep fum de daid leaf mol’; 

He stretch his legs en squat crosswise, 

En croak : ‘ Full de lan’, ain’t it col’ ! ’ 

4 Fuh de lan’, ain’t it col’! ’ croak de pea- 
green frog, 

En he stahts, en sneeze, en sneeze; 

En he hop two feet to de cypress log— 

En croak : 4 Ah’ll hop or freeze ! ’ 

44 De fus’ spring cricket wuk his long-laig 
saw, 

En saw fro de coocoon pill ; 

He sun hisself on a las’ yea’s straw, 

En squeak : 4 Fuhde lan’, what a chill! ’ 
4 Fuh de lan’, what a chill!’ de brown 
cricket squeak, 

En he heah mistah frog’s deep chune ; 

En togeddah dey squat on the moss log 
bleak, 

En pine fuh de bref of June. 

44 De fus’ spring snake keek de roof fum his 
hole, 

En up fum de erf he sneak ; 

He twine hisself ’roun’ de swamp-fence 
pole, 

En hiss : 4 Fuh de lan’, ain’t it bleak ! ’ 

4 Fuh de lan’, ain’t it bleak ! ’ hiss de bal‘ 
haid snake, 

En he heah de cricket en de frog; 



HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


En he staht away wid a wriggle en a shake, 

En jine dem bofe on de log. 

“ So de cricket en de frog en de bal’ haid 
snake, 

Staht up a sahanade wail; 

De snake cudn’t sing, so he start in to 
shake, 

En beat de time wid his tail, 

En de frog cum in wid his bazoo deep 

En de cricket’s sharp notes ring : 

En dey wake up de meddah en vale fum 
sleep, 

Wid a sahanade to spring.” 

” The Chicago News.” 


THEOLOGY IN THE QUARTERS. 

Negro Dialect. 

N ow. I’s got a notion in my head dat 
when you come to die, 

An’ stan’ de ’zamination in de Cote- 
house in de sky, 

You’ll be ’stonished at de questions dat de 
angel’s gwine to ax 

When he gits you on de witness-stan’ an’ 
pin you to de fac’s ; 

’Cause he’ll ax you mighty closely ’bout 
your doin’s in de night, 

An’ de water-milion question’s gwine to 
bodder you a sight! 

Den your eyes’ll open wider dan dey ebber 
done befo’, 

When he chats you ’bout a chicken-scrape 
dat happened long ago ! 

De angels on de picket-line erlong de Milky 
Way 

Keeps a-watchin’ what you’re dribin’ at, an’ 
bearin’ what you say ; 

No matter what you want to do, no matter 
whar you’s gwine, 

Dey’s mighty ap’ to find it out an’ pass it 
’long de line; 

An’ of’en at de meetin’, when you make a 
fuss an’ laugh, 

Why, dey send de news a-kitin’ by de 
golden telegraph ; 

Den, de angel in de orfis, what’s a-settin’ 
by de gate, 

Jes’ reads de message wid a look an’ claps 

it on do slate | 


183 

Den you better do your juty well an’ keep 
your conscience clear, 

An’ keep a-lookin’ straight ahead an’ 
watchin’ whar you steer; 

’Cause arter while de time’ll come to 
journey fum de lan’, 

An’ dey’ll take you way up in de a’r an’ 
put you on de stan’ ; 

Den you’ll hab to listen to de clerk an’ 
answer mighty straight, 

Ef you ebber ’spec’ to trabble froo de 
alaplaster gate! 

J. A. Macon. 


WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID. 

Very amusing when recited at a Church Enter¬ 
tainment. 

4 4 TV T" a’s up-stairs changing her dress,” 
1 YI said the freckle-faced little girl, 
tying her doll’s bonnet strings 
and casting her eye about for a tidy large 
enough to serve as a shawl for that double- 
jointed young person. 

“Oh, your mother needn’t dress up for 
me,” replied the female agent of the mis¬ 
sionary society, taking a self-satisfied view 
of herself in the mirror. ” Run up and 
tell her to come down just as she is in her 
every-day clothes, and not stand on cere¬ 
mony.” 

“ Oh, but she hasn’t got on her every¬ 
day clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her 
new brown silk dress, ’cause she expected 
Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond 
always conies over here to show off her 
nice things, and ma doesn’t mean to get 
left. When ma saw you coming she said, 

‘ the dickens ! ’ and I guess she was mad 
about something. Ma said if you saw her 
new dress, she’d have to hear all about the 
poor heathen, who don’t have silk, and 
you’d ask her for money to buy hymn-books to 
send ’em. Say, do the nigger ladies use 
hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on 
and make it frizzy ? Ma says she guesses 
that’s all the good the books do ’em, if 
they ever get any books. I wish my doll 
was a heathen.” 

” Why, you wicked little girl! what do 
you want of a heathen doll?” inquired the 
missionary lady, taking a mental inventory 
of the pe\y things in the parlor to get 




184 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


material for a homily on worldy extrava¬ 
gance. 

“ So folks would send her lots of nice 
things to wear, and feel sorry to have her 
going about naked. Then she’d have her 
hair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly 
hair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Sil- 
derback’s when he says amen on Sunday. 
I ain’t a wicked girl, either, ’cause Uncle 
Dick—you know Uncle Dick, he’s been out 
West and swears awful and smokes in the 
house—he says I’m a holy terror, and he 
hopes I’ll be an angel pretty soon. Ma ’ll 
be down in a minute, so you needn’t take 
your cloak off. She said she’d box my 
ears if I asked you to. 

“ Ma’s putting on that old dress she had 
last year, ’cause she didn’t want you to 
think she was able to give much this time, 
and she needed a muff worse than the queen 
of the cannon-ball islands needed religion. 
Uncle Dick says you oughter get to the 
islands, ’cause you’d be safe there, and the 
natives would be sorry they was such sin¬ 
ners anybody would send you to ’em. He 
says he never seen a heathen hungry enough 
to eat you, ’less ’twas a blind one, an’ you’d 
set a blind pagan’s teeth on edge so he’d 
never hanker after any more missionary. 
Uncle Dick’s awful funny, and makes ma 
and pa die laughing sometimes.” 

“ Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved 
wretch, and ought to have remained out 
West, where his style is appreciated. He sets 
a horrid example for little girls like you.” 

“ Oh, I think he’s nice. He showed me 
how to slide down the banisters, and he’s 
teaching me to whistle when ma ain’t 
around. That’s a pretty cloak you’ve got, 
ain’t it ? Do you buy all your clothes with 
missionary money ? Ma says you do.” 

Just then the freckle-faced little girl’s ma 
came into the parlor and kissed the mis¬ 
sionary lady on the cheek and said she was 
delighted to see her, and they proceeded to 
have a real sociable chat. The little girl’s 
ma cannot understand why a person who 
professes to be so charitable as the mis¬ 
sionary agent does should go right over to 
Miss Dimmond’s and say such ill-natured 
things as she did, and she thinks the mis¬ 
sionary is a double-faced gossip. The little 
girl understands it better than her ma does. 


THE BELL-WETHER AND THE DEACON. 

Humorous Reading for a Church Entertainment. 
44 YTou see,” said Sam Dawson, “ there 
JL was old Dick Ike’s bell-wether, he 
wuz the fightenest old critter that 
ever you see. Many a time he’s chased me 
and Lem Ludoc on our way to see the 
Larkin gals; but, as I was a sayin’, what I 
want to tell yer is about him and the Dea¬ 
con. Ike let his sheep graze in the church¬ 
yard—wrong of course, but then he done it; 
and that’s what got the Deacon in trouble. 
The weather was sizzlin’ hot and the Deacon 
was the tithin’ man and used to keep him¬ 
self awake in meetin’ by runnin’ around 
wakin* up everybody else, and crackin’ 
the boys with his stick whenever he ketched 
one in mischief. Nothin’ escaped him. He 
seemed like one of them beasts in Revela¬ 
tion that was full of eyes behind and before. 
Well, folks that is chipper and high-steppin’ 
has their come-downs, and the Deacon had 
to hev his. 

Well, that Sunday the parson give us a 
great sermon, and the Deacon run around 
and keep everything straight till it was most 
through, and then he sot down right by the 
door, and the hot weather overcome him so 
he fell asleep just before the sermon closed. 

“ Wal, Parson Morrell had a way o’ 
prayin’ with his eyes open. Folks said it 
wa’n’t the best way, but it was Parson Mor¬ 
rell’s anyhow, and so as he was prayin’ he 
couldn’t help seein’ that Deacon Titkins 
was a noddin’ and a bobbin’ out towards 
the place where old Dick was feedin’ with 
the sheep, front o’ the meetin’-house door. 

“ Lem and me was sittin’ where we could 
look out and we could jest see old Dick 
stop feedin’ and look at the Deacon. 
The Deacon had a little round head as 
smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered 
wig on it, and he sot there makin’ bobs and 
bows, and Dick begun to think it was 
suthin’ sort o’ pussonel. Lem and me was 
sittin’ jest where we could look out and 
see the whole picter, and Lem was fit to 
split. 

44 4 Good, now,’ says he, 4 that crittur ’ll 
pay the Deacon off lively, pretty soon.* 

44 The Deacon bobbed his head a spell, 
and old Dick he shook his horns and 
stamped at him sort o’thretnin’. Finally, 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


185 


the Deacon he gave a great bow and brought 
his head right down at him, and old Dick 
he sot out full tilt and come down on him 
ker chunk, and knocked him head over 
heels into the broad aisle, and his wig flew 
one way and he t’ other, and Dick made a 
lunge at it as it flew, and carried it off on 
his horns. 

“ Wal, you may believe, that broke up 
the meetin’ for one while, for Parson Mor¬ 
rell laughed out, and all the girls and boys 
they stamped and roared, and the old Dea¬ 
con he got up and begun rubbing his shins 
’cause he didn’t see the joke on’t. 

“ ‘ You don’t orter laugh,’ says he, ‘ it’s 
no laughin’ matter—it’s a solemn thing,’ 
says he, * I might have been sent into ’tar- 
nity by that darned crittur,’ says he. Then 
they all roared and haw-hawed the more to 
see the Deacon dancin’ round with his little 
shiny head, so smooth a fly would trip up 
on’t. ‘I believe, on my soul, you’d laugh 
to see me in my grave,’ says he ! 

“ Wal, the truth on’t was, ’t was just one 
of them bustin’ up times that natur’ has, 
when there ain’t nothin’ for it but to give 
in ; ’t was jest like the ice breakin’ up in 
the Charles River—it all come at once and 
no whoa to ’t. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or 
no sin, the most on ’em laughed till they 
cried, and couldn’t help it. 

“But the Deacon he went home feelin’ 
pretty sore about it. Lem Ludoc he picked 
up his wig and handed it to him. Says he, 

‘ Old Dick was playing tithing-man, wa’n’t 
he, Deacon? Teach you to make allow¬ 
ance for other folks that get sleepy.’ 

“ Then Mrs. Titkins she went over to 
Aunt Jerushy Scran’s and Aunt Polly 
Hokum’s, and they had a pot o’ tea over it, 
and ’greed it was awful of Parson Morrell to 
set sich an example, and suthin’ had got to 
be done about it. Miss Hokum said she 
allers knew that Parson Morrell hadn’t no 
spiritooality, and now it had broke out into 
open sin, and led all the rest of ’em into it; 
and Mrs. Titkins, she said such a man 
wa’n’t fit to preach ; and Miss Hokum said 
she could n’t never hear him ag’in, and the 
next Sunday the Deacon and his wife they 
hitched up and driv eight miles over to 
Parson Lothrop’s, and took Aunt Polly on 
the back seat. 


“ Wal, the thing growed and growed 
till it seemed as if there war n’t nothing 
else talked about, ’cause Aunt Polly and 
Mrs. Titkins and Jerushy Scran they didn’t 
do nothin’ but talk about it, and that sot 
everybody else a talkin.’ 

“ Finally, it was ’greed they must hev a 
council to settle the hash. So all the wim- 
men they went to chopping mince, and 
making uppunkin pies and cranberry tarts, 
and bilin’ doughnuts, gettin’ reddy for the 
ministers and delegates—’cause councils 
always eats powerful—and they had quite a 
stir, like a gineral trainin’. The hosses. 
they was hitched all up and down the stalls, 
a-stompin’ and switchin’ their tails, and all 
the wiinmen was a-talkin’, and they hed up 
everybody round for witnesses, and finally 
Parson Morrell he says, ‘ Brethren,’ says 
he, ‘ jest let me tell you the story jest as it 
happened, and if you don’t every one of you 
laugh as hard as I did, why, then I’ll give up.’ 

“ The parson, he was a master hand at 
setting off a story, and afore he’d done he 
got ’em all in sich a roar they didn’t know 
where to leave off. Finally, they give sen¬ 
tence that there hadn’t no temptation took 
him but such as is common to man ; but they 
advised him afterward allers to pray with his 
eyes shut, and the parson he confessed he 
orter ’a done it, and meant to do better 
in future, and so they settled it. 

“ Sp, boys,” said Sam, who always drew 
a moral, * ‘ ye see it larns you you must take 
care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep 
from laughin’ in meetin’.” 

Mrs. H. B. Stowe. 


A MOST OBLIGING LITTLE SISTER. 

Humorous Child Character Sketch. 

In this recitation a very demure and simple looking young 
man should be standing looking foolishly and expectantly at the 
door way—to whom should enter in a romping irrepressible 
mood, a girl of apparently about twelve years of age. 

4 4 J\ /T Y sister’ll be down in a minute, and 
1V1 says you’re to wait, if you please ; 
And says I might stay till she came, 
if I’d promise her never to tease, 
Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But 
that’s nonsense; for how w’ld you know 
What she told me to say, if I didn’t. 

Don’t you really and truly think so ? 



i86 


HUMOROUS AND DIALECTIC 


“ And then you’d feel strange here alone. 
And you wouldn’t know just where to 
sit ; 

For that chair isn’t strong on its legs, and 
we never use it a bit: 

We keep it to match with the sofa ; but 
Jack says it would be like you, 

To flop yourself right down upon it, and 
knock out the very last screw. 

“ Suppose you try ! I won’t tell. You’re 
afraid to! Oh ! you’re afraid they 
would think it was mean ! 

Well, then, there’s the album : that’s pretty, 
if you’re sure that you’re fingers are 
clean. 

For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she 
only says that when she’s cross. 

There’s her picture. You know it? It’s 
like her ; but she ain’t as good-looking, 
of course. 

“This is Me. I’ts the best of ’em all. 
Now, tell me, you’d never have thought 

That once I was little as that? It’s the 
only one that could be bought; 

For that was the message to Pa from the 
photograph-man where I sat,— 

That he wouldn’t print off any more till he 
first got his money for that. 

“What? Maybe you’re tired of waiting. 
Why, often she’s longer than this. 

There’s all her back hair to do up, and all 
of her front curls to friz. 

But it’s nice to be sitting here talking like 
grown people, just you and me ! 

Do you think you’ll be coming here often ? 
Oh, do! But don’t come like Tom 
Tee,— 

“ Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my good¬ 
ness ! he used to be here day and night, 

Till the folks thought he’d be her husband ; 
and Jack says that gave him a fright. 

You won’t run away then, as he did ? For 
you’re not a rich man, they say ! 

Pa says you’re poor as a church-mouse. 
Now, are you ? and how poor are they ? 

“ Ain’t you glad that you met me ? Well, I 

am; for I know now your hair isn’t red; 


But wliat there is left of it’s mousy, and not 
what that naughty Jack said. 

But there! I must go: sister’s coming 1 
But I wish I could wait, just to see 
If she ran up to you, and she kissed you in 
the way she used to kiss Lee.” 

Bret Harte. 


BABY’S SOLILOQUY. 

The following selection can be made very humorous if th« 
person reading it assumes the tones of a very little child, and ir 
appropriate places imitates the cry of a baby. 

I am here. And if this is what they call 
the world, I don’t think much of it. 
It’s a very flannelly world, and smells 
of paregoric awfully. It’s a dreadful light 
world, too. and makes me blink, I tell you. 
And I don’t know what to do with 
my hands. I think I’ll dig my fists 
in my eyes. No, I won’t. I’ll scratch 
at the corner of my blanket and chew it up, 
and then I’ll holler ; whatever happens, I’ll 
holler. And the more paregoric they give 
me, the louder I’ll yell. That old nurse 
puts the spoon in the corner of my mouth, 
sidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk 
herself all the while. She spilt snuff in it 
last night, and when I hollered, she trotted 
me. That comes of being a two days-old 
baby. 

Nevermind ; when I’m a man, I’ll pay 
her back good. There’s a pin sticking in 
me now, and if I say a word about it, I’ll 
be trotted or fed ; and I would rather have 
catnip-tea. I’ll tell you who I am. I 
found out to-day. I heard folks say, 
■“ Hush don’t wake up Emeline’s baby; ” 
and I suppose that pretty, white-faced 
woman over on the pillow is Etneline. 

No, I was mistaken ; for a chap was in 
here just now and wanted to see Bob’s 
baby; and looked at me and said I was a 
funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. 
He smelt of cigars. I wonder who else I 
belong to ! Yes, there’s another one— 
that “ Gamma.” “ It was Gamma’s baby, 
so it was.” I declare, I do not know who 
I belong to ; but I’ll holler, and maybe I’ll 
find out, There comes snuffy with catnip- 
tea. I’m going to sleep. I wonder why 
my hands won’t go where l want them to! 



Part V 


TEMPERANCE SELECTIONS 

I N almost every community there are Temperance Societies, and Temperance Enter¬ 
tainments are often made the object of neighborhood gatherings. The following 
readings and recitations will prove valuable to the cause, while they enhance the 
general enjoyment of such occasions. 


THE COST OF THE FIRST DRINK. 

For a Temperance Entertainment. 

The following tableau may be rendered very impressive by 
allowing the curtain to rise, showing a young man with a 
thoughtful face standing in the background holding in his hand 
a glass of wine, on which he is gazing intently, while some one 
at the side of the stage pronounces impressively the following 
words: 

ii 1\/T Y fri en ds, we behold in this tableau a 
lVi young man with the first glass of 
intoxicating liquor in his hand. 
He is counting the cost of introducing into 
his system this ‘ slow poison of death.’ He 
is about to take a step that will fasten upon 
him, perhaps, a habit that has been the ruin 
of tens of thousands of the world’s bright and 
promising men. Well does he pause, before 
drinking, to count the cost. He is counting 
the cost of a burning brain ; counting the 
cost ot a palsied hand ; counting the cost of 
a staggering step; counting the cost of 
broken hearts and of tear-stained pillows ; 
counting the cost of a blighted home ; 
counting the cost of the self-respect which 
oozes out at the finger-tips as they clasp the 
sparkling curse; counting the cost of the 
degradation and disgrace of a ruined body 
and a lost soul. What should every young 
man do in this critical situation ? This young 
man has counted the cost. Let him give us 
his answer.” 

As the speaker stands silently, pointing his finger at the man 
in the tableau, his hold upon the glass is suddenly loosened, and 
it falls to the floor, dashing in pieces. 


THE FACE ON THE FLOOR. 

WAS a balmy summer evening, and a 
goodly crowd was there 
That well nigh filled Joe’s bar-room 
on the corner of the square, 

And as songs and witty stories came through 
the open door ; 

A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon 
the floor. 

“ Where did it come from ? ” some one said ; 
“ The wind has blown it in.” 

‘‘What does it want?” another cried, 
“ Some whiskey, beer, or gin ? ’ ’ 

“ Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach’s 
equal to the work, 

I wouldn’t touch him with a fork, he’s as 
filthy as a Turk.” 

This badinage the poor wretch took with 
stoical good grace, 

In fact, he smiled as if he thought he’d 
struck the proper place : 

“ Come, boys, I know there’s kindly hearts 
among so good a crowd ; 

To be in such good company would make a 
deacon proud. 

“ Give me a drink ! That’s whcA I want, I hr 
out of funds, you know, 



1S7 



i88 


TEMPERANCE READINGS 


When I had cash to treat the gang, this 
hand was never slow ; 

What? You laugh as if you thought this 
pocket never held a sou ; 

I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any 
one of you. 

“ There, thanks, that braced me nicely, 
God bless you, one and all, 

Next time I pass this good saloon I’ll make 
another call; 

Give you a song? No, I can’t do that, my 
singing days are past, 

My voice is cracked, my throat’s worn out 
and my lungs are going fast. 

“Say, give me another whiskey and I’ll 
tell you what I’ll do— 

I’ll tell you a funny story, and a lact, I 
promise, too ; 

That I was ever a decent man, not one of 
you would think, 

But I was, some four or five years back, 
say, give us another drink. 

“ Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life 
into my frame— 

Such little drinks to a bum like me are mis¬ 
erably tame; 

Five fingers—there, that’s the scheme—and 
corking whiskey, too, 

Well, boys, here’s luck, and landlord, my 
best regards to you. 

“You’ve treated me pretty kindly and I’d 
like to tell you how 

I came to be the dirty sot you see before 
vou now; 

As I told you, once I was a man, with 
muscle, frame and health, 

And, but for a blunder, ought to have made 
considerable wealth. 

‘ ‘ I was a painter—not one that daubed on 
bricks and wood, 

But an artist, and, for my age, was rated 
pretty good; 

I worked hard at my canvas, and was 
bidding fair to rise; 

For gradually I saw the star of fame before 
my eyes. 

“ I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen, 
’tis called the Chase of Fame ; 


It brought me fifteen hundred pounds, and 
added to my name ; 

And then, I met a woman—now comes the 
funny part— 

With eyes that petrified my brain, and 
sunk into my heart. 

** Why don’t you laugh ? ’Tis funny that 
the vagabond you see 

Could ever love a woman and expect her 
love for me; 

But ’twas so, and for a month or two her 
smile was freely given ; 

And when her loving lips touched, mine, it 
carried me to heaven. 

“ Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom 
your soul you’d give, 

With a form like the Milo Venus, too beau¬ 
tiful to live, 

With eyes that would beat the Kohinoor 
and a wealth of chestnut hair ? 

If so, ’twas she, for there never was another 
half so fair. 

“ I was working on a portrait one afternoon 
in Mav, 

Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine who 
lived across the way, 

And Madeline admired it, and much to my 
surprise, 

Said that she’d like to know the man that 
had such dreamy eyes. 

“ It didn’t take long to know him, and 
before the month had flown, 

My friend had stole my darling, and I was 
left alone; 

And ere a year of misery had passed above 
my head, 

The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished 
and was dead. 

“ ( That’s why I took to drink, boys. Why, 

I never saw you smile, 

I thought you’d be amused and laughing 
all the while ; 

Why, what’s the matter, friend ? There’s a 
tear-drop in your eye, 

Come, laugh like me, ’tis only babes and 
women that should cry. 

“Say, boys, if you’ll give me another 
whiskey, I’ll be glad, 


TEMPERANCE READINGS 


189 


And I’ll draw right here, the picture of 
the face that drove me mad ; 

Give me that piece of chalk with which you 
mark the base-ball score— 

And you shall see the lovely Madeline 
upon the barroom floor.” 

Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the 
vagabond began 

To sketch a face that well might buy the 
soul ot any man, 

Then, as he placed another lock upon the 
shapely head, 

With a fearful shriek he leaped and fell 
across the picture— dead , 

H. Antoine D’Arcy. 


APPEAL FOR TEHPERANCE. 

In no cause in which his sympathies were enlisted was Mr. 
Grady more active and earnest than in that ol temperance. The 
following extract is from one of his speeches delivered during the 
exciting local campaign in Georgia in 1887. 

M y friends, hesitate before you vote 
liquor back into Atlanta, now that it 
is shut out. Don’t trust it. It is 
powerful, aggressive and universal in its 
attacks. To-night it enters an humble 
home to strike the roses from a woman’s 
cheek, and to-morrow it challenges this 
Republic in the halls of Congress. To-day 
it strikes a crust from the lips of a starving 
child, and to-morrow levies tribute from the 
government itself There is no cottage in 
this city humble enough to escape it—no 
palace strong enough to shut it out. It 
defies the law when it cannot coerce suffrage. 
It is flexible to cajole, but merciless in 
victory. It is the mortal enemy of peace 
and order. The despoiler of men, the ter- 
tor of women, the cloud that shadows the 
face of children, the demon that has dug 
more graves and sent more souls unshrived 
to judgment than all the pestilences that 
have wasted life since God sent the plagues 
to Egypt, and all the wars since Joshua stood 
beyond Jericho. O my countrymen ! loving 
God and humanity, do not bring this grand 
old city again under the dominion ot that 
power. It can profit no man by its return. 
It can uplift no industry, revive no interest, 
remedy no wrong. You know that it can¬ 
not. It comes to turn, and it shall profit 
mainly by the ruin of your sons and mine. 


It comes to mislead human souls and crush 
human hearts under its rumbling wheels. 
It comes to bring gray-haired mothers down 
in shame and sorrow to their graves. It 
comes to turn the wife’s love into despair 
and her pride into shame. It comes to still 
the laughter on the lips of little children. 
It comes to stifle all the music of the home 
and fill it with silence and desolation. It 
comes to ruin your body and mind, to wreck 
your home, and it knows that it must meas¬ 
ure its prosperity by the swiftness and cer¬ 
tainty with which it wreaks this work. 

H. W. Grady. 


THE MEN BEHIND THE VOTE. 

OL ^a-ve heard of the man behind the 
gun, 

Who guards the fort of the wave, 
Whose unerring aim 
Saves his land from shame, 

And marks him a hero brave. 

But behind the man behind the gun 
Stands the country true and right; 

And heroes brave 
Both on land and wave 

Are guarded by her great might. 

And we are the men behind the land 
That enlists the best of her youth, 

And through them we fight 
For justice and right, 

. And stand in defense of the truth. 

You have heard of the man behind the bar 
Who, by greed of gain beguiled, 

Trails his victim’s name 
In the slime of shame, # 

And curses the wife and the child. 

But behind the man behind the bar 
Is the ballot pure and white, 

And the villains vile 
Who with drink defile 

Are shielded as though in the right. 

And we are the men behind the vote 
To license the man at the bar, 

Making bold to proclaim 
That we sanction the shame 
Of rum’s iniquitous wat. 

Rev. Norman Plass. 






190 


TEMPERANCE READINGS 


THE POWER OF HABIT. 

Adapted to the development of transition in pitch, and a very 
spirited utterance. 

T remember once riding from Buffalo to 
the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentle* 
man, “ What river is that, sir ? ” 

“ That/’ said he, “ is Niagara river.” 
“Well, it is a beautiful stream,” said I; 
“ bright, and fair, and glassy. How far off 
are the rapids ? ** 

“ Only a mile or two,** was the reply. 

“Is it possible that only a mile from us 
we shall find the water in the turbulence 
which it must show near the Falls ! ” 

“ You will find it so, sir.’* And so I 
found it; and the first sight of Niagara I 
shall never forget. 

Now, launch your bark on that Niagara 
river; it is bright, smooth, beautiful and 
glassy. There is a ripple at the bow ; the 
silver wake you leave behind adds to your 
enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, 
oars, sails, and helm in proper trim, and 
you set out on your pleasure excursion. 

Suddenly some one cries out from the 
bank, “ Young men, ahoy ! ” 

“What is it?” 

“ The rapids are below you S ” 

“ Ha 1 ha ! we have heard of the rapids : 
but we are not such fools as to get there. 
If we go too fast, then we shall up with 
the helm, and steer to the shore; we will 
set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, 
and speed to the land. Then on, boys; 
don't be alarmed, there is no danger.” 

“ Young men, ahoy there ! ” 

“What is it?” 

“ The rapids are below you ! * ’ 

“ Ha 1 ha ! we will laugh and quaff; all 
things delight us. What care we for the 
future! No man ever saw it. Sufficient 
for the day is the evil thereof. We will 
enjoy life while we may, will catch pleasure 
as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough 
to steer out of danger when we are sailing 
swiftly with the current.” 

“ Young men, ahoy ! ” 

“What is it?” 

“ Beware! beware! The rapids are 
below you! 

“Now you see the water foaming all 
around. See how fast you pass that point \ 
Up with the helm! How turn' Pull hard J 


Quick ! quick 1 quick 1 puU .or your lives i 
pull till the blood starts from your nostrils, 
and the veins stand like whip-coids upon 
your brow l Set the mast in the socket! 
hoist the sail I Ah ! ah ! it is too late 1 
Shrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they 
8 °'" 

Thousands go over the rapids of intem¬ 
perance every year, through the power oj 
habit , crying all the while, “ When I find 
out that it is injuring me, / will give it up ! ” 

John B, Gough. 


ANEW DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

Suited to the organization of a Temperance Society, or an oc¬ 
casion where the Temperance cause is to be advocated. The 
Rev. F. O. Blair, author of the article, read it on July 4, 1S83, at 
Lebanon, Ills., at a Temperance picnic. The reader should as¬ 
sume the dignified; earnest and forcible tone suitable to the read¬ 
ing of the great American Declaration, 

W hen in the course of human events it 
becomes necessary for a people to 
dissolve their connection with the 
Government to which they have hitherto 
owed allegiance, a decent respect for the 
opinions of mankind demands that thfe 
causes should be clearly set forth which 
impel them to the separation. 

We hold these truths to be self-evident: 
That all men are created equal ; that they 
are endowed by their Creator with certain 
inalienable rights ; that among these are 
life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness : 
that to secure these rights, governments are 
instituted among men, deriving their just 
powers from the consent of the governed ; 
that, whenever any form of government 
becomes destructive of these ends, it is the 
right and duty of the people to alter, or to 
abolish it; that it is the first law of self- 
preservation that any State or Nation may, 
and of right ought to, do all those things 
which are necessary to perpetuate its own 
existence ; and to abolish all those practices 
and to counteract all those influences which 
are calculated to ruin the body politic, and 
destroy society. 

For many years the inhabitants of this 
country have suffered from the cruel acts 
and oppressive measures instituted by King 
Alcohol, with the evident design to reduce 
them under an absolute despotism, and aftei 
long and patient endurance of flagrant 
wrongs, and after having made many and 



temperance readings 


fruitless efforts to obtain redress, until it 
is plainly evident that nothing can be hoped 
from appeals to his justice or mercy, we, 
the people of these United States, having 
resolved to cast off the authority of this 
tyrant, do unite in this declaration of the 
causes and reasons which constrain us to 
take so important a step, and of the miseries 
and grievances which have been inflicted on 
us by him, until his government has become 
a burden too heavy to be borne. The his¬ 
tory of his course toward us in the past is 
a history of repeated injuries and usurpa¬ 
tion, all having in direct object the estab¬ 
lishment of an absolute tyranny over these 
States, and the subjection of the people, 
through their depraved appetites and pas¬ 
sions, to his complete control. 

To prove this, let facts be submitted to a 
candid world :— 

He has refused his assent to laws the 
most wholesome and necessary for the pub¬ 
lic good. 

He has caused the enactment of laws 
which have opened the sluiceways of 
destruction, pouring forth upon the people 
of this land a dreadful tide of intemperance, 
with all the attendant evils of drunkenness, 
disease and death. 

He has bribed in various ways, and under 
various disguises, the legislators, the judges, 
and the juries of the country to prevent the 
enactment and the execution of laws, how¬ 
ever needful for the welfare of the public, 
which would interfere with his nefarious 
traffic in intoxicating liquors, or prevent 
the accumulation of wealth by himself, at 
the expense of the comfort, the fortunes, 
the lives, and the future well-being of his 
victims. 

He has taken away our property, earned 
by patient, faithful labor, and reduced our 
families to beggary and want. 

He has diverted the wealth of the Nation 
from its proper office to the support of the 
criminal, the pauper, and the idiot, made 
such by his blighting influence. 

He has locked up vast sums of money 
from the legitimate uses of trade and com¬ 
merce in the jails, the penitentiaries, and 
the asylums, these having been made neces¬ 
sary by the vices and crimes he has stimu¬ 
lated into activity among the people. 


191 

He has extorted many millions from the 
laborers of the Nation to be expended in 
maintaining the police forces, the courts of 
justice, and all the machinery of Govern¬ 
ment, devoted largely to a vain effort to 
remedy the evils he himseif has inflicted 
upon society. 

He has transformed the fruits of the 
earth, given for the sustenance of man and 
beast, into a death-dealing poison which 
changes men into demons. 

He has diverted the labors of thousands 
from productive occupations to the prepara¬ 
tion and distribution of the fiery flood which 
desolates our land. He has smitten the 
people with insanity and idiocy, and filled 
our asylums with maniacs and drivelling 
idiots, and our prisons with criminals. 

He has enticed our boys from their 
homes, and sent them forth as tramps and 
vagabonds in the land, and, instead of good 
citizens, they have become the dangerous 
classes of society. 

He has won our young men from lives of 
sobriety, industry and frugality, to a course 
of drunkenness, indolence, and wasteful¬ 
ness. 

He has drawn away our young women 
from the paths of virtue to dens of infamy 
and frightful depths of degradation. 

He is responsible, directly or indirectly, 
for three-fourths of all the crimes com¬ 
mitted, and four-fifths of all the murders 
done. 

He has dragged down the gifted and 
noble of all classes from positions of honor, 
trust and usefulness, and with ruined repu¬ 
tations, and names disgraced, has con¬ 
signed them to a drunkard’s grave and a 
drunkard’s doom. 

He has blighted the sunny, happy years 
of childhood, and caused the little ones to 
pass their lives in squalor, misery and 
want; and homes that might have been the 
abode of perennial happiness have been 
turned into habitations of infern.il misery. 

He has prostrated the public press to his 
purposes and uses, so that, too often, in¬ 
stead of nobly speaking out for justice and 
right, and the good of the people at large, 
it basely yields to his demands to be sus¬ 
tained in his efforts to crush and ruin our 
race. 


192 


TEMPERANCE READINGS 


He has infatuated very many of the office- 
seekers and office-holders with the belief 
that it is far more important to promote his 
interests than to labor for the welfare of the 
people at large. 

He has changed, in many places, the 
Holy Sabbath, with its hours of peaceful 
quiet, a day devoted to religious observ¬ 
ances and the worship of Almighty God, to 
a day of revelry, drunkenness, and de¬ 
bauchery. 

In every stage of these oppressions we 
have petitioned for redress in the most 
humble terms ; our repeated petitions have 
been answered only by repeated injury. A 
ruler whose character is thus marked by 
every act which may define a tyrant is unfit 
to be the sovereign of a free people. 

Nor have we been wanting in our atten¬ 
tions to those engaged in making and sell¬ 
ing alcoholic drinks. We have implored 
them to have pity upon the suffering wife 
and the ragged, starving children ; we have 
appealed to every sentiment of our common 
nature to induce them to withhold the 
deadly draught from our boys and young 
men and the habitual drunkard, but all in 
vain. They, too, have been deaf to the 
voice of justice and humanity, and have 
laughed us to scorn. 

We have exhausted all our resources in 
our endeavors to obtain relief from those 
engaged in the traffic in distilled and fer¬ 
mented liquors, and have utterly failed. 
The only course left us to pursue is to 
dissolve completely our connection with 
so unjust, so tyrannical, so oppressive a 
power. 

We, therefore, appealing to the Supreme 
Judge of the Universe for the rectitude of 
our intentions, do solemnly publish and 
declare that the people of this land are, 
and of right ought to be, free and indepen¬ 
dent ; that we are absolved from all alle¬ 
giance to King Alcohol, and to all his 
adherents; that, as free and independent 
citizens of these United States, we have the 
right to break away from his control and to 
banish the tyrant from our land. 

And for the support of this declaration 
and the accomplishment of our arduous 
undertaking, we earnestly invoke the aid 
and sympathy of the civilized world, the 


fervent prayers of all Christian people, and 
the help and guidance of Almighty God. 
And we mutually pledge to each other our 
lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor. 

Rev. F. O. Beair. 


WHAT IS A MINORITY? 

hat is a minority ? The chosen 
heroes of this earth have been in a 
minority. There is not a social, 
political, or religious privilege that you en¬ 
joy to-day that was not bought for you by 
the blood and tears and patient suffering of 
the minority. It is the minority that have 
vindicated humanity in every struggle. It 
is a minority that have stood in the van of 
every moral conflict, and achieved all that 
is noble in the history of the world. You 
will find that each generation has been 
always busy in gathering up the scattered 
ashes of the martyred heroes of the past, 
to deposit them in the golden urn of a na¬ 
tion’s history. Rook at Scotland, where 
they are erecting monuments—to whom ?— 
to the Covenanters. Ah, they were in a 
minority. Read their history, if you can, 
without the blood tingling to the tips of 
your fingers. These were in the minority, 
that, through blood, and tears, and bootings 
ana scourgings—dying the waters with their 
blood, and staining the heather with their 
gore—fought the glorious battle of religious 
freedom. Minority ! if a man stand up for 
the right, though the right be on the scaf¬ 
fold, while the wrong sits in the seat of 
government; if he stand for the right, 
though he eat, with the right and truth, a 
wretched crust; if he walk with obloquy 
and scorn in the by-lanes and streets, while 
the falsehood and wrong ruffle it in silken 
attire, let him remember that wherever the 
right and truth are there are always 

“ Troops of beautiful, tall angels ’* 

gathered round him, and God Himself 
stands within the dim future, and keeps 
watch over His own ! If a man stands for 
the right and the truth, though every man’s 
finger be pointed at him, though every 
woman’s lip be curled at him in scorn, he 




TEMPERANCE READINGS 


*93 


stands in a majority; tor God and good 
angels are with him, and greater are they 
that are for him, than all they that be 
against him. 

John B. Gough. 


A BRAVE BOY. 

A Temperance Reading. 

Oo this is our new cabin-boy ; ” was 
O my inward exclamation, as I 
walked on deck and saw a dark¬ 
eyed, handsome youth, leaning against the 
railing and gazing with a sad, abstracted 
air into the foamy waves that were lustily 
dashing against the vessel. I had heard a 
good many remarks made about him by the 
crew, who did not like him because he 
seemed somewhat shy of them, and they 
were continually tormenting him with their 
rough jokes. He had refused to drink any 
intoxicating liquor since he came on board, 
and I was curious to know more about 
him. 

My interest and sympathy were aroused, 
and I resolved to watch over and protect 
him as far as possible from the ungovern¬ 
able temper of the captain, and the rough 
jokes of the sailors. 

A few days afterward I was standing be¬ 
side the captain, when suddenly rough 
shouts and laughter broke upon our ears ; 
we went to the forepart of the deck, and 
found a group of sailors trying to persuade 
Allen to partake of their grog. 

“ Baugh on,” I heard Allen’s firm voice 
reply, “but I’ll never taste a drop. You 
ought to be ashamed to drink it yourselves, 
much more to offer it to another.” 

A second shout of laughter greeted the 
reply, and one of the sailors, emboldened by 
the captain’s presence, who they all knew 
was a great drinker himself, approached the 
boy and said : 

“ Now, my hearty, get ready to keel 
roight over on your beam end, whin ye’ve 
swallowed this.” 

He was just going to pour the liquor down 
his throat when, quick as a flash, Allen 
seized the bottle and flung it far overboard. 
While the sailors were looking regretfully 
after the sinking bottle, Allen looked pale 

*3 H 


but composed at Captain Harden, whose 
face was scarlet with suppressed rage. I 
trembled for the boy’s fate. Suddenly Cap¬ 
tain Harden seized him and cried out 
sternly: 

“ Hoist this fellow aloft into the main top¬ 
sail. I’ll teach him better than to waste my 
property ! ’ ’ 

Two sailors approached him to execute 
the order ; but Allen quietly waved them 
back, and said in a low, respectful tone : 

“ Ill go myself, captain, and I hope you 
will pardon me: I meant no offence.” I 
saw his hand tremble a little as he took hold 
of the rigging. For one unused to the sea it 
was extremely dangerous to climb that height. 
For a moment he hesitated, as he seemed to 
measure the distance, but he quietly recov¬ 
ered himself, and proceeded slowly and care¬ 
fully. 

“ Faster! ” cried the captain, as he saw 
with what care he measured his steps, and 
faster Allen tried to go, but his footslipped, 
and for a moment I stood horror-struck, 
gazing up at the dangling form suspended 
by the arms in mid-air. A coarse laugh 
from the captain, a jeer from the sailors, 
and Allen again caught hold of the rigging, 
and soon he was in the watch-basket. 

“ Now, stay there, you young scamp, and 
get some of the spirit frozen out of you,” 
muttered the captain, as he went down into 
the cabin. Knowing the captain’s temper, 
I dared not interfere while he was in his 
present state of mind. By nightfall, how¬ 
ever, I proceeded to the cabin, and found 
him seated before the table, with a half 
empty bottle of his favorite champagne be¬ 
fore him. I knew he had been drinking 
freely, and therefore had little hope that 
Allen would be released ; still I ventured to 
say : 

“ Pardon my intrusion, Captain Harden, 
but I’m afraid our cabin-boy will be sick if 
he is compelled to stay up there much 
longer. ’* 

“ Sick ! bah, not a bit of it; he’s got too 
much grit in him to yield to such nonsense; 
no person on board my ship ever gets sick ; 
they know better than to play that game on 
me. But I’ll go and see what he is doing, 
anyhow.” 



194 


TEMPERANCE READINGS 


Upon reaching the deck he shouted 
through his trumpet: 

“ Ho ! my lad.” 

“ Aye, aye, sir,” was the faint but prompt 
response from above, as Allen’s face ap¬ 
peared, looking with eager hope for his re¬ 
lease. ' 

‘ ‘ How do you like your new berth ? ’ ’ was 
the captain’s mocking question. 

“ Better than grog or whiskey, sir,” came 
the quick reply from Allen. 

“ If I allow you to descend, will you 
drink the contents of this glass?” and he 
held up, as he spoke, a sparkling glass of 
his favorite wine. 

“ I have forsworn all intoxicating drinks, 
sir, and I will not break my pledge, even at 
the risk of my life.” 

“ There, that settles it,” said the captain, 
turning to me; he’s got to stay up there 
to-night; he’ll be toned down before morn- 

• i * 

mg. 

By early dawn Captain Harden ordered 
him to be taken down, for to his call, “ Ho, 
my lad ! ” there was no reply, and he began 
to feel alarmed. A glass of warm wine and 
biscuit were standing ready for him beside 
the captain, who was sober now ; and when 
he saw the limp form of Allen carried into 
his presence by two sailors his voice soft¬ 
ened, as he said: 

“Here, my lad, drink that, and I will 
trouble you no more.” 

With a painful gesture, the boy waved 
him back, and in a feeble voice, said : 

“ Captain Harden, will you allow me to 
tell you a little of my history ? ’ ’ 

“ Go on,” said the captain, “ but do not 
think it will change my mind ; you have to 
drink this just to show you how I bend stiff 
necks on board my ship. 

‘ ‘ Two weeks before I came on board this 
ship I stood beside my mother’s coffin. I 
heard the dull thud of falling earth as the 
sexton filled the grave which held the last 
remains of my darling mother. I saw the 
people leave the spot; I was alone, yes, 
alone, for she who loved me and cared for 
me was gone. I knelt for a moment upon 
the fresh turf, and while the hot tears rolled 
down my cheeks, I vowed never to taste 
the liquor which had broken my mother’s 
heart and ruined my father’s life. 


“Two days later, I stretched my hand 
through the prison bars, behind which my 
father was confined. I told him of my 
intention of going to sea. Do with me 
what you will, captain ; let me freeze to 
death in the mainmast; fhrow me into 
the sea below, anything, but do not for 
dear mother’s sake, force me to drink that 
poison which has ruined my father, and 
killed my mother. Do not let it ruin a 
mother’s only son !” 

He sank back exhausted, and burst into 
a fit of tears. The captain stepped for¬ 
ward, and laying his hand, which trembled 
a little, upon the boy’s head, said to the 
crew who had collected round : 

“ For our mothers’ sake, let us respeot 
Allen Bancroft’s pledge. And never,” he 
continued, firing up, “ let me catch any of 
you ill-treating him.” 

He then hastily withdrew to his apart¬ 
ment. The sailors were scattered, and I 
was left alone with Allen. 

“ Lieutenant, what does this mean? Is 
it possible that—that—’ ’ 

“ That you are free,’ ’ I added, “ and that 
none will trouble you again.” 

“ Lieutenant,” he said, “ if I was not so 
ill and cold just now, I think I’d just toss 
my hat and give three hearty cheers for 
Captain Harden.” 

He served on our vessel three years, and 
was a universal favorite. When he left Cap¬ 
tain Harden presented him with a handsome 
gold watch as a memento of his night in 
the mainmast, and the hearty sailor sent the 
youth away with a blessing on his head. 


THE TWO GLASSES. 

Temperance Recitation. 

HERE sat two glasses, filled to the brim, 
On a rich man’s table, rim to, rim ; 
One was ruddy, and red as blood, 

And one was clear as the crystal flood. 

Said the glass of wine to his paler brother, 

‘ ‘ Let us tell tales of the past to each other. 
I can tell of banquet, and revel, and 
mirth, 

Where I was king, for I ruled in might, 
And the proudest and grandest souls on 
earth 




TEMPERANCE READINGS 


Fell under my touch, as though struck 
with blight. 

From the heads of kings I have torn- the 
crown, 

From the heights of fame I have hurled 
men down ; 

I have blasted many an honored name; 

I have taken virtue and given shame ; 

I have tempted the youth with a sip, a 
taste, 

Which has made his future a barren waste. 
Far greater than any king am I, 

Or than any army beneath the sky ; 

I have made the arm of the driver fail, 

And sent the train from its iron rail ; 

I have made good ships go down at sea, 
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet 
to me ; 

For they said, ‘ Behold, how great you be ! 
Fame, strength, wealth, genius, before you 
fall, 

And your might and power are over all.* 

Ho ! ho ! pale brother,” laughed the wine, 

‘ ‘ Can you boast of deeds as great as 
mine?” 

Said the water glass : “ I can not boast 
Of a king dethroned, or a murdered host; 
But I can tell of hearts that were sad, 

By my crystal drops made light and glad ; 
Of thirst I have quenched, and brows I’ve 
laved ; 

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I’ve 
saved. 

I have leaped through the valley, dashed 
down the mountain, 

Slept in the sunshine, and dripped from the 
fountain ; 

I have burst my cloud fetters and drooped 
from the sky, 

And everywhere gladdened the landscape 
and eye. 

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and 
pain, 

I have made the parched meadows grow 
fertile with grain ; 

I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill 
That ground out the flour, and turned at my 
will; 

I can tell of manhood, debased by you, 
That I have uplifted and crowned anew, 

I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid, 

I gladden the heart of man and maid; 


5 95 

I set the chained wine-captive free, 

And all are better for knowing me.” 

These are the tales they told to each other, 
The glass of wine and its paler brother, 

As they sat together, filled to the brim, 

On a rich man’s table, rim to rim.— 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 


THE DRUNKARDS DAUGHTER, 

A woman who became an earnest temperance advocate and 
worker for total abstinence, after having Seen ruined in fortune 
and having her happiness wrecked by drink in her own home, was 
twitted by her former friends and called a fanatic. The following 
lines were written by her as a reply. 

G o, feel what I have felt, 

Go, bear what I have borne ; 

Sink ’neath a blow a father dealt, 

And the cold, proud world’s scorn. 

Thus struggle on from year to year. 

Thy sole relief the scalding tear. 

Go, weep as I have wept 
O’er a loved father’s fall; 

See every cherished promise swept, 

Youth’s sweetness turned to gall; 

Hope’s faded flowers strewed all the way. 
That led me up to woman’s day. 

Go, kneel as I have knelt: 

Implore beseech and pray. 

Strive the besotted heart to melt, 

The downward course to stay; 

Be cast with bitter curse aside,— 

Thy prayers burlesqued, thy tears defied. 

Go, stand where I have stood, 

And see the strong man bow ; 

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood 
And cold and livid brow ; 

Go, catch his wandering glance, and see 
There mirrored his soul’s misery. 

Go, hear what I have heard,— 

The sobs of sad despair, 

As memory’s feeling fount hath stirred, 
And its revealings there 
Have told him what he might have been, 
Had he the drunkard’s fate forseen. 

Go to my mother’s side, 

And her crushed spirit cheer; 

Thine own deep anguish hide, 

Wipe from her cheek the tear ; 

Mark her dimmed eye, her furrowed brow, 



TEMPERA NCE READINGS 


19 6 

The gray that streaks her dark hair now, 
The toil-worn frame, the trembling limb, 
And trace the ruin back to him 
Whose plighted faith in early youth, 
Promised eternal love and truth, 

But who, forsworn, hath yielded up 
This promise to the deadly cup, 

And led her down from love and light, 
From all that made her pathway bright, 
And chained her there ’mid want and strife, 
That lowly thing,—a drunkard’s wife ! 

And stamped on childhood’s brow, so mild, 
That withering blight,—a drunkard’s child! 

Go, hear, and see, and feel, and know 
All that my soul hath felt and known 
Then look within the wine-cup’s glow ; 

See if its brightness can atone ; 

Think of its flavor would you try, 

If all proclaimed,— ’Tis drink and die . 

Tell me how I hate the bowl,— 

Hate is a feeble word ; 

I loathe, abhor, my very soul 
By strong disgust is stirred 
Whene’er I see, or her ; or tell 
Of the DARK BEVERAGE OF HEEL ? 


PLEDGE WITH WINE. 

This selection may be easily converted into an effective 
dialogue by omitting the words and acting the parts between the 
remarks of the bride and her attendants. The company should 
be dressed in wedding attire. 

( i T3EEDGE with wine—pledge with wine! ’ * 

JL cried the young and thoughtless 
Harry Wood. “ Pledge with 
wine,” ran through the brilliant crowd. 

The beautiful bride grew pale—the deci¬ 
sive hour had come,—she pressed her white 
hands together, and the leaves of her bridal 
wreath trembled on her pure brow; her 
breath came quicker, her heart beat wilder. 
From her childhood she had been most 
solemnly opposed to the use of all wines 
and liquors. 

“Yes, Marion, lay aside your scruples 
for this once,” said the judge in a low tone, 
going towards his daughter, “ the company 
expect it; do not so seriously infringe upon 
the rules of etiquette ;—in your own house 
act as you please; but in mine, for this 
once please me. ” 

Every eye was turned towards the bridal 

pair. Marion ’a principles were well known. 


Henry had been a convivialist, but of late 
his friends noticed the change in his man¬ 
ners, the difference in his habits—and to¬ 
night they watched him to see, as they sneer- 
ingly said, if he was tied down to a woman’s 
opinion so soon. 

Pouring a brimming beaker, they held 
it with tempting smiles towards Marion. 
She was very pale, though more composed, 
and her hand shook not, as smiling back, 
she gratefully accepted the crystal tempter 
and raised it to her lips. But scarcely had 
she done so, when every hand was arres'.ed 
by her piercing exclamation of “Oh, Low 
terrible!” “What is it?” cried one and 
all, thronging together, for she had slowly 
carried the glass at arm’s length, and was 
fixedly regarding it as though it were some 
hideous object. 

“Wait,” she answered, while an inspired 
light shone from her dark eyes, “ wait and 
I will tell you. I see,” she added, slowly 
pointing one jewelled finger at the spark¬ 
ling ruby liquid, “ a sight that beggars all 
description ; and yet listen ; I will paint it 
for you if I can : It is a lonely spot; tall 
mountains, crowned with verdure, rise in 
awful sublimity around ; a river runs 
through, and bright flowers grow to the 
water’s edge. There is a thick, warm mist 
that the sun seeks vainly to pierce; trees, 
lofty and beautiful, wave to the airy motion 
of the birds ; but there, a group of Indians 
gather ; they flit to and fro with something 
like sorrow upon their dark brows ; and in 
their midst lies a manly form, but his 
cheek, how deathly ; his eye wild with the 
fitful fire of fever. One friend stands beside 
him, nay, I should say kneels, for he is 
pillowing that poor head upon his breast. 

“ Genius in ruins. Oh ! the high, holy¬ 
looking brow ! Why should death mark 
it, and he so young ? Look how he throws 
the damp curls ! see him clasp his hands ! 
hear his thrilling shrieks for like! mark 
how he clutches at the form of his com¬ 
panion, imploring to be saved. Oh ! hear 
him call piteously his father’s name; see 
him twine his fingers together as he shrieks 
for his sister—his only sister—the twin of 
his soul—weeping for him in his distant 
native land. 



TEMPERANCE READINGS 


197 


“ See ! ” she exclaimed, while the bridal 
party shrank back, the untasted wine 
trembling in their faltering grasp, and the 
judge fell, overpowered, upon his seat; 
‘ ‘ see ! his arms are lifted to heaven ; he 
prays, how wildly, for mercy ! hot fever 
rushes through his veins. The friend 
beside him is weeping; awe-stricken, the 
dark men move silently, and leave the 
living and dying together.” 

There was a hush in that princely parlor, 
broken only by what seemed a smothered 
sob, from some manly bosom. The bride 
stood yet upright, with quivering lip, and 
tears stealing to the outward edge of her 
lashes. Her beautiful arm had lost its 
tension, and the glass, with its little 
troubled red waves, came slowly towards 
the range of her vision. She spoke again ; 
every lip was mute. Her voice was low, 
faint, yet awfully distinct: she still fixed 
her sorrowful glance upon the wine-cup. 

“It is evening now; the great white 
moon is coming up, and her beams lie 
gently on his forehead. He moves not; 
his eyes are set in their sockets; dim are 
their piercing glances ; in vain his friend 
whispers the name of father and sister— 
death is there. Death ! and no soft hand, 
no gentle voice to bless and soothe him. 
His head sinks back! one convulsive 
shudder ! he is dead ! ” 

A groan ran through the assembly, so 
vivid was her description, so unearthly her 
look so inspired her manner, that what she 
described seemed actually to have taken 
place then and there. They noticed also, 
that the bridegroom hid his face in his 
hands and was weeping. 

“Dead!” she repeated again, her lips 
quivering faster and faster, and her voice 
more and more broken: “and there they 
scoop him a grave; and there, without a 
shroud, they lay him down in the damp, 
reeking earth. The only son of a proud 


father, the only idolized brother of a fond 
sister. And he sleeps to-day in that distant 
country, with no stone to mark the spot. 
There he lies—my father’s son—my own 
twin brother! a victim to this deadly 
poison.” “ Father,” she exclaimed, turn¬ 
ing suddenly, while the tears rained down 
her beautiful cheeks, “ father, shall I drink 
it now ? 

The form of the old judge was convulsed 
with agony. He raised his head, but in a 
smothered voice he faltered—“ No, no, my 
child ; in God’s name, no.” 

She lifted the glittering goblet, and 
letting it suddenly fall to the floor it was 
dashed into a thousand pieces. Many a 
tearful eye watched her movements, and 
instantaneously every wineglass was trans¬ 
ferred to the marble table on which it had 
been prepared. Then, as she looked at the 
fragments of crystal, she turned to the 
company, saying: “ Tet no friend, here¬ 
after, who loves me, tempt me to peril my 
soul for wine. Not firmer the everlasting 
hills than my resolve, God helping me, 
never to touch or taste that terrible poison. 
And he to whom I have given my hand; 
who watched over my brother’s dying form 
in that last solemn hour, and buried the 
dear wanderer there by the river in that 
land of gold, will, I trust, sustain me in 
that resolve. Will you not, my husband ? ’ ’ 

His glistening eyes, his sad, sweet smile 
was her answer. 

The judge left the room, and when an 
hour later he returned, and with a more 
subdued manner took part in the entertain¬ 
ment of the bridal guests, no one could fail 
to read that he, too, had determined to 
dash the enemy at once and forever from 
his princely rooms. 

Those who were present at that wedding, 
can never forget the impression so solemnly 
made. Many from that hour foreswore the 
social glass. 


Part VI. 


RELIGIOUS AND MORAL SELECTIONS 


“GOD IS CALLING ME.” 

On the Twenty-second day of December, 1899, Dwight L. 
Moody, the world’s greatest Evangelist, died at his home at 
Northfield, Mass. The whole religious world mourned his loss. 
His last words were “ God is calling me.” 

C ( od is calling me,” he murmured. 

Oh, what visions cheered his 
eyes 

As his eager spirit hastened 
To his home beyond the skies ! 

God had called him, oh, how often 
Had he listened to the call, 

Hastening to the field of action, 

Full of zeal and love for all! 

How he prayed and how he labored, 
Seeking souls for Christ to win, 

Till his burning words have rescued 
Tens of thousands from their sin. 

We shall hear no more his pleading, 

For his prayer is turned to praise ; 

But we look for gracious answers 
Through the swiftly passing days. 


“ ’Twas man ! and we in horror snatched 
the sun 

From such a spectacle of guilt and 
shame.” 

I asked the sea ;—the sea in fury boiled, 
And answered, with his voice of storms:— 
’Twas man! 

My waves in panic at his crime recoiled, 
Disclosed the abyss, and from the center 
ran.” 

I asked the earth ;—the earth replied, aghast, 
“ ’Twas man ! and such strange pangs 
my bosom rent, 

That still I groan and shudder at the past.” 
To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, 
I went, 

And asked him next;— he turned a scornful 
eye, 

Shook his proud head, and deigned me no 
reply. 


Montgomery. 


In his home, his church, his Northfield, 
Schools and missions grown world-wide, 
How they sorrowed for their leader 
On the blessed Christmas-tide ! 

But the work must go straight forward ! 

Never was there greater need. 

Well we know he would not falter 
Though his inmost soul might bleed. 

God is calling us, O Christians ! 

Do we heed the call to-day ? 

Are we eager for his service ? 

Do we labor, watch, and pray ? 

May our brother’s life enthuse us, 

And the mantle he let fall 
Rest not only on his workers, 

But on Christians, one and all. 

Mary B. Wingate:. 


THE CRUCIFIXION. 

asked the heavens ; — ‘ ‘ What foe to 
God has done 

This unexampled deed ? ’ ’ The heavens 
exclaimed : 

19& 


CLIPPING THE BIBLE 

T here is another class. It is quite fash 
iouable for people to say, “Yes, ) 
believe the Bible, but not the super¬ 
natural. I believe everything that corre¬ 
sponds with this reason of mine.” They go 
on reading the Bible with a penknife, cutting 
out this and that. Now, if I have a right 
to cut out a certain portion of the Bible, I 
don’t know why one of my friends has not 
a. right to cut out another, and anothei 
friend to cut out another part, and so on. 
You would have a queer kind of Bible il 
everybody cut out what he wanted to. Every 
liar would cut out everything about lying ; 
every drunkard would be cutting out what 
he didn’t like. Once, a gentleman took his 
Bible around to his minister’s and said, 
“ That is your Bible.” “ Why do you call 
it my Bible ? ” said the minister. “ Well,” 
replied the gentleman, “ I have been sitting 
under your preaching for five years, and 
when you said that a thing in the Bible was 







RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


199 


not authentic, I cut it out.” He had about 
a third of the Bible cut out; all of Job, all 
of Ecclesiastes and Revelation, and a good 
deal besides. The minister wanted him to 
leave the Bible with him ; he didn’t want 
the rest of his congregation to see it. But 
the man said, “ Oh, no ! I have the covers 
left, and I will hold on to them.” And off 
he went holding on to the covers. If you 
believed what some men preach, you would 
have nothing but the covers left in a few 
months. I have often said, that, if I am 
going to throw away the Bible, I will throw 
it all into the fire at once. There is no need 
of waiting five years to do what you 
can do as well at once. I have yet to find a 
man who begins to pick at the Bible that 
does not pick it all to pieces in a little while. 
A minister whom I met awhile ago said to 
me, “ Moody, I have given up preaching 
except out of the four Gospels. I have 
given up all the Epistles, and all the Old 
Testament; and I do not know why I can¬ 
not go to the fountain head and preach as 
Paul did. I believe the Gospels are all 
there is that is authentic.” It was not long 
before he gave up the four Gospels, and 
finally gave up the ministry. He gave up 
the Bible, and God gave him up. 

D. E. Moody. 


THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. 

T HE eyes of thousands glanced on him, as 
mid the cirque he stood, 
Unheeding of the shout which broke 
from that vast multitude. 

The prison damps had paled his cheek, and 
on his lofty brow 

Corroding care had deeply traced the fur¬ 
rows of his plow. 

Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and 
raised to heaven his eye, 

For well that feeble old man knew they 
brought him forth to die ! 

Yet joy was beaming in that eye, while from 
his lips a prayer 

Passed up to Heaven, and faith secured his 
peaceful dwelling there. 

Then calmly on his foes he looked ; and, as 
he gazed, a tear 


Stole o’er his cheeks ; but ’t was the birti 
of pity, not of fear. 

He knelt down on the gory sand—one* 
more he looked toward heaven ; 

And to the Christian’s God he prayed that 
they might be forgiven. 

But, hark! another shout, o’er which the 
hungry lion’s roar 

Is heard, like thunder, mid the swell on a 
tempestuous shore ! 

And forth the Libyan savage bursts—rolls 
his red eyes around ; 

Then on his helpless victim springs, and 
beats him to the ground. 

Short pause was left for hope or fear; the 
instinctive love of life 

One struggle made, but vainly made, in 
such unequal strife ; 

Then with the scanty stream of life his jaws 
the savage dyed; 

While, one by one, the quivering limbs his 
bloody feast supplied. 

Rome’s prince and senators partook the 
shouting crowd’s delight; 

And Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that 
unhallowed sight. 

But say, what evil had he done ?—what sin 
of deepest hue ?— 

A blameless faith was all the crime that 
Christian martyr knew ! 

But where his precious blood was spilt, even 
from that barren sand. 

There sprang a stem, whose vigorous 
boughs soon overspread the land : 

O’er distant isles its shadow fell; nor knew 
its roots decay, 

Even when the Roman Caesar’s throne and 
rule had passed away. 

Rev. Hamilton Buchanan. 


THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN. 

A S the member of an infant empire, as a 
philanthropist by character, and, if I 
may be allowed the expression, as a 
citizen of the great republic of Humanity at 
large, I cannot help turning my attention 
sometimes to this subject, how mankind may 
be connected , like one greatfamily , in fra ter^ 




200 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


nal ties. I indulge a fond, perhaps an en- 
husiastic idea, that as the world is evidently 
uuch less barbarous than it has been, its 
melioration must still be progressive; that 
nations are becoming more humanized in 
their p 'icy ; that the subjects of ambition 
and causes for hostility are daily diminish¬ 
ing ; and, in fine, that the period is not very 
remote when the benefits of a liberal and 
free commerce will pretty generally succeed 
to the devastations and horrors of war. 

George; Washington. 


A NEW TEN COMMANDMENTS. 

1. NEVER put off till to-morrow what you 
can do to-day. 

2. Never trouble another for what you can 
do yourself. 

3. Never spend your money before you 
have it. 

4. Never buy what you do not want 
because it is cheap ; it will be dear to you. 

5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst 
and cold. 

6. We never repent of having eaten too 
little. 

7 Nothing is troublesome that we do will¬ 
ingly. 

8. How much pain have cost us the evils 
that have never happened. 

9. Take things always by their smooth 
handle. 

10. When angry, count ten before you speak; 
if very angry, an hundred. 

Thomas Jefferson. 


OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF 
MORTAL BE PROUD? 

This poem was written by William Knox, a countryman of 
Burns, like him somewhat dissipated at times, and like him dying 
(in 1825) at the early age of (about) thirty-seven. Sir Walter 
Scott and Professor Wilson thought highly of his poetic genius. 
It was Abraham Lincoln’s favorite poem. 

O H, why should the spirit of mortal be 
proud ? 

Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast¬ 
flying cloud, 

A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, 
Man passeth from life to his rest in the 
grave. 

The leaves of the oak and the willow shall 
fade, 


Be scattered around, and together be laid ; 

And the young and the old, and the low 
and the high, 

Shall moulder to dust, and together shall lie. 

The infant a mother attended and loved ; 

The mother that infant’s affection who 
proved ; 

The husband that mother and infant who 
blest— 

Each, all, are away to their dwellings o* 
rest. 

The hand of the king that the sceptre hath 
borne, 

The brow of the priest that the mitre hath 
worn, 

The eye of the sage and the heart of the 
brave, 

Are hidden and lost in the depths of the 
grave. 

The peasant whose lot was to sow and to 
reap, 

The herdsman who climbed with his goats 
up the steep, 

The beggar who wandered in search of his 
bread, 

Have faded away like the grass that we 
tread. 

So the multitude goes—like the flower or 
the weed 

That withers away to let others succeed ; 

So the multitude comes—even those we 
behold, 

To repeat every tale that has often been 
told. 

For we are the same our fathers have been ; 

We see the same sights our fathers have 
seen; 

We drink the same stream, we view the 
same sun, 

And run the same course our fathers have 
run. 

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers 
would think ; 

From the death we are shrinking, our 
fathers would shrink; 

To the life we are clinging, they also would 
cling; 

But it speeds from us all like a bird on the 
wing. 




RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


201 


They loved—but the story we cannot unfold; 
They scorned—but the heart of the haughty 
is cold ; 

They grieved—but no wail from their slum¬ 
ber will come; 

They joyed—but the tongue of their glad¬ 
ness is dumb. 

They died—ay, they died ; and we things 
that are now 

That walk on the turf that lies on their 
brow, 

And make in their dwellings a transient 
abode, 

Meet the changes they met on their pilgrim¬ 
age road. 

Yea 1 hope and despondency, pleasure and 
pain, 

Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; 
And the smile and the tear, the song and 
the dirge, 

Still follow each other, like surge upon 
surge. 

’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of 
a breath, 

From the blossom of health to the paleness 
of death, 

From the gilded saloon to the bier and the 
shroud : 

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be 
proud ? 

THE GLORIES OF THE LIFE BEYOND. 

do not expect, the moment I drop this 
body, to mount up, glowing like a star, 
into the presence of God, with all the 
fullness of perfection that I am ever to 
attain. I expect that through period after 
period will go on unfolding, that spiritual 
germ which God has implanted in me. I 
expect by growth to become really and truly 
a son of God in those heavenly conditions. 
I cannot go further in affirming what my 
state shall be. But I know what happiness 
is. I know what love is. I know what the 
devotion of one soul to another is. I know 
how blessed it is for a person to be lost in 
one to whom he can look up. I know what 
it is to have in single hours glimpses of the 
presence of God. I have had them, that is, 
as a peasant has some sense of the ocean, 
who has only seen some inland lake, and 


cannot, even by a stretch of the imagina¬ 
tion, magnify that lake so as to make it the 
ocean, world-encompassing, and sounding 
with all the music of its storms. I have 
had some sight of God ; but I know it is 
like a little lake, as compared with a full 
vision of the infinite, shoreless, fathomless, 
measureless ocean of the divine nature. 
And I shall be amazed, when I see it, that I 
ever kn w anything about it. Yet I shall 
see it, and not another for me. I shall see 
God himself. And I shall be satisfied then 
for the first time in all my life. 

H. W. Beecher. 


THE BOOKS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT. 

The foil wing rhymed list of the books of the Old Testament 
is said t r have been made by Rev. Dr. William Staughton, pastot 
in Philadelphia, where he began the teaching of young men who 
felt their need of preparation before entering the ministry, and 
was active in the founding of the Columbian University at Wash* 
ington, of which he became the first president, in 1823 : 

T he great Jehovah speaks to us 
In Genesis and Exodus; 

Leviticus and Numbers, see, 
Followed by Deuteronomy. 

Joshua and Judges sway the land, 

Ruth gleans a sheaf with trembling ha»d. 
Samuel and numerous Kings appear, 
Whose Chronicles we wondering hear 
Ezra and Nehemiah now, 

Esther the beauteous mourner show : 

Job speaks in sighs, David in Psalms, 

The Proverbs teach to scatter alms ; 
Ecclesiastes then come on, 

And the sweet songs of Solomon. 

Isaiah, Jeremiah, then 

With Lamentations takes his pen ; 

Ezekiel, Daniel, Hosea’s lyres, 

Swell Joel, Amos, Obadiah’s. 

Next Jonah, Micah, Nahum corner 
And lofty Habakkuk finds room ; / 

While Zephaniah, Haggai calls, i 
Rapt Zachariah builds his walls— 

And Malachi, with garments rent, 
Concludes the Ancient Testament. 


BUILDING AND BEING. 

he King would build, so a legend sa)-^ 
The finest of all fine palaces. 

He sent for St. Thomas, a builder rare, 
And bade him to rear them a wonder fair. 







202 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


The King’s great treasure was placed at 
hand 

And with it the sovereign’s one command : 

“ Build well, O builder, so good and great! 
And add to the glory of my estate. 

“ Build well, nor spare of my wealth to 
show 

A prouder palace than mortals know.” 

The King took leave of his kingdom then, 
And wandered far from the haunts of men. 

St. Thomas the King’s great treasure spent 
In worthier way than his master meant. 

He clad the naked, the hungry fed, 

The oil of gladness around him shed. 

He blessed them all with the ample store, 
As never a King’s wealth blessed before. 

The King came back from his journey long, 
But found no grace in the happy throng 

That greeted him now on his slow return, 
To teach him the lesson he ought to learn. 

The King came back to his well-spent gold ; 
But no new palace could he behold. 

In terrible anger he swore, and said 
That the builder’s folly should cost his 
head. 

St. Thomas in dungeon dark was cast, 

Till the time for his punishment dire were 
passed 

Then it chanced, or the good God willed 
it so, 

That the King’s own brother in death lay 
low 

When four days dead, as the legend reads, 
He rose to humanity’s life and needs. 

From sleep of the dust he strangely woke, 
And thus to his brother, the King, he 
spoke: 

“ I have been to Paradise, O my King ! 

And have heard the heavenly angels sing. 

And there I saw, by the gates of gold, 

V palace finer than tongue has told : 


“ Its walls and towers were lifted high 
In beautiful grace to the bending sky. 

“ Its glories there, in that radiant place, 
Shone forth like a smile from the dear Ford’s 
face. 

“ An angel said it was builded there 
By the good St. Thomas, with love and care 

“ For our fellow-men, and that it should be 
Thy palace of peace through eternity.” 

The King this vison pondered well, 

Till he took St. Thomas from dungeon cell, 

And said, “ O builder ! he most is wise 
Who buildeth ever for Paradise ! ’ ’ 

From “ Geraldine.” 


BROUGHT IN PA’S PRAYERS. 

O nce upon a time sickness came to the 
. family of a poorly paid pastor of a 
rural church. It was winter, and the 
pastor was in financial straits. A number 
of his flock decided to meet at his house and 
offer prayers for the speedy recovery of the 
sick ones, and for material blessings upon 
the pastor’s family. While one of the deacons 
was offering a fervent prayer for blessings 
upon the pastor’s household, there was a 
loud knock at the door. When the door 
was opened, a stout farmer boy was seen, 
wrapped up comfortably. 

“ What do you want, boy? ” asked one 
of the elders. 

“I’ve brought pa’s prayers,” replied 
the boy. 

“Brought pa’s prayers? What do you 
mean ? ’ ’ 

“Yep, brought pa’s prayers ; an’ they re 
out in the wagon. Just help me an’ we’ll 
get ’em in.” 

Investigation disclosed the fact that 
“pa’s prayers” consisted of potatoes, 
flour, bacon, corn-meal, turnips, apples, 
warm clothing, and a lot of jellies for the 
sick ones. 

The prayer meeting adjourned in short 
order. 


“ Missionary.” 



RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


203 


HOW PRAYER WAS ANSWERED. 

Suitable for Church Entertainment. 

k /T adam, we miss the train at B-,” 

-LVX “But can’t you make it, sir?” 
she gasped. 

“ Impossible ; it leaves at three, 

And we are due a quarter past.” 

Is there no way ? Oh, tell me then, 

Are you a Christian ? ” *“ I am not.” 

“ And are there none among* the men 

Who run the train ? ” “ No—I forgot— 

I think this fellow over here, 

Oiling the engine, claims to be.” 

She threw upon the engineer 
A fair face white with agony. 

“ Are you a Christian ? ” “ Yes, I am.” 

“ Then, O sir, won’t you pray with me, 

All the long way, that God will stay, 

That God will hold the train at B-? ” 

‘ ’Twill do no good, it’s due at three 

And”-“Yes, but God can hold the 

train ; 

“ My dying child is calling me, 

And I must see her face again. 

Oh, won' t you pray? ” “I will,” a nod 
Emphatic, as he takes his place. 

When Christians grasp the arm of God 

They grasp the power that rules the rod. 

• 

Out from the station swept the train, 

On time, swept on past wood and lea ; 

The engineer, with cheeks aflame, 

Prayed, “O Eord, hold the train at 


Then flung the throttle wide, and like 
Some giant monster of the plain, 

With panting sides and mighty strides, 

Past hill and valley swept the train. 

A half, a minute, two are gained ; 

Along those burnished lines of steel, 

His glances leap, each nerve is strained, 
And still he prays with fervent zeal. 
Heart, hand and brain, with one accord, 
Work while his pray’r ascends to Heaven, 
“ Just hold the train eight minutes, L,ord. 
And I’ll make up the other seven.” 

With rush and roar through meadow lands, 
Past cottage homes, and green hillsides, 
The panting thing obeys his hands, 

And speed* along with giant strides. 

H Pros, 


They say an accident delayed 
The train a little while ; but He 
Who listened while his children prayed, 

In answer, held the train at B-. 

Rose: Hartwick Thorpe:. 


NO RELIGION WITHOUT MYSTERIES. 

he:re: is nothing beautiful, sweet, or 
grand in life, but in its mysteries. The 
sentiments which agitate us most 
strongly are enveloped in obscurity; mod¬ 
esty, virtuous love, sincere friendship, have 
all their secrets, with which the world must 
not be made acquainted. Hearts which 
love understand each other by a word ; half 
of each is at all times opeii to the other. 
Innocence itself is but a holy ignorance, and 
the most ineffable of mysteries. Infancy is 
only happy, because it as yet knows nothing; 
age miserable, because it has nothing more 
to learn. Happily for it, when the myster¬ 
ies of life are ending, those of immortality 
commence. 

If it is thus with the sentiments, it is as¬ 
suredly not less so with the virtues; the 
most angelic are those which, emanating 
directly from the Deity, such as charity, 
love to withdraw themselves from all re¬ 
gards, as if fearful to betray their celestial 
origin. 

If we turn to the understanding, we shall 
find that the pleasures of thought, also, 
have a certain connection with the myster¬ 
ious. To what sciences do we unceasingly 
return ? To those which always leave some¬ 
thing still to be discovered, and fix our re¬ 
gards on a perspective which is never to 
terminate. If we wander in the desert, a sort 
of instinct leads us to shun the plains where 
the eye embraces at once the whole circum¬ 
ference of nature, to plunge into forests— 
those forests—the cradle of religion, whose 
shades and solitudes are filled with the re¬ 
collection of prodigies, where the ravens 
and the doves nourished the prophets and 
fathers of the church. If we visit a modern 
monument, whose origin or destination is 
known, it excites no attention; but, if we 
meet on a desert isle, in the midst of the 
ocean, with a mutilated statue pointing to 
the west, with its pedestal covered with 
hieroglyphics, and worn by the winds, what 









204 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


a subject of meditation is presented to the 
traveler! Everything is concealed, every¬ 
thing is hidden in the universe. Man him¬ 
self is the greatest mystery of the whole. 
Whence comes the spark which we call 
existence, and in what obscurity is it to be 
extinguished ? The Eternal has placed our 
birth, and our death, under the form of two 
veiled phantoms, at the two extremities of 
our career ; the one produces the inconceiv¬ 
able gift of life, which the other is ever 
ready to devour. 

It is not surprising, then, considering the 
passion of the human mind for the myster¬ 
ious, that the religions of every country 
should have had their impenetrable secrets. 
God forbid! that I should compare the 
mysteries of the true faith, or the unfathom¬ 
able depths of the Sovereign in the heavens, 
to the changing obscurities of those gods 
which are the work of human hands. All 
that I observe is, that there is no religion 
without mysteries, and that it is they, with 
the sacrifice , which everywhere constitute 
the essence of the worship. 

Chateaubriand . 


RIZPAH. 

By permission of the author . 

One of the most pathetic and dramatic incidents in sacred 
history is that of Rizpah watching by the gibbets of her sons 
who had been slain to satisfy the haters of King Saul, their 
father. The story may be read in II Samuel, xxi. 

N ight came at last. The noisy throng 
had gone, 

And where the sun so late, like al¬ 
chemist, 

Turned spear and shield and chariot to gold 
No sound was heard. 

The awful deed was done ; 
And vengeance sated to the full had turned 
Away. The Amorites had drunk the blood 
Of Saul and were content. The last armed 
guard 

Had gone, and stillness dwelt upon the 
scene. 

The rocky mount slept fast in solitude ; 

The dry, dead shrubs stood weird and grim, 
and marked 

The narrow, heated road that sloped and 
wound 

To join the King’s highway. No living 
thing 


Was seen ; nor insect, bird, nor beast was 
heard ; 

The very air came noiselessly across 
The blighted barley fields below, yet stirred 
No leaflet with its sultry breath. 

Above 

A mist half hid the vaulted firmament, 

And stars shone dimly as though through 
a veil; 

Still was their light full adequate to show 
Those rigid shapes that seeming stood 
erect, 

Yet bleeding hung, each from its upright 
cross, 

A mute companion to its ghastly kin. 

The middle watch was come, yet silence 
still 

Oppressed the night; the twigs stood mo¬ 
tionless 

Like listening phantoms, when, from out 
The shadow of a jutting rock there came 
A moving thing of life, a wolf-like form : 
With slow and stealthy tread it came, then 
stopped 

To sniff the air, then nearer moved to 
where 

The seven gibbets stood. 

Then came a shriek, 

A cry of mortal fear that pierced the soul 
Of night; then up from earth a figure 
sprang, 

The frightened jackal leaped away, and 
once 

More Rizpah crouched beneath her dead. 

So night 

And day she watched ; beneath the burning 
sun 

By day, beneath the stars and moon by 
night; 

All through the long Passover Feast she 
watched. 

Oft in the lonely vigil back through years 
She went; in fancy she was young again, 
The favored one of mighty Saul, the King ; 
Again she mingled with the courtly throng, 
And led her laughing boys before her lord, 
Their father. 

Starting then, with upturned face, 
And gazing from her hollow, tearless eyes, 
Her blackened lips would move, but make 
no sound, 

Then, sinking to the ground she caught 
once more 



RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


205 


The thread of thought, and thought brought 
other scenes ; 

She saw the stripling warrior David, son 
Of Jesse, whom the populace adored 
And Saul despised ; then Merab came, and 
then 

Her sweet-faced sister, Michal, whose quick 
wit 

And love saved David’s life. 

Then Rizpah rose, 

Yea, like a tigress sprang unto her feet. 

“ Thou, David, curst be thee and thine !” 
she shrieked, 

“Thou ingrate murderer! Had Saul but 
lived, 

And liadst thou fallen upon thy sword in¬ 
stead, 

My sons, my children still would live.” 

’ Twas in 

The morning watch, and Rizpah’s last, that 
bright, 

Clear glowed the Milky Way. The Pleiades 
Tike molten gold shone forth ; e’en she who 
loved 

The mortal Sisyphus peeped timidly, 

And so the Seven wond’ring sisters gazed 
Upon the Seven crucified below. 

Such cause for woman’s pity ne’er was 
seen, 

And stars, e’en stones might weep for Riz¬ 
pah’s woe, 

Whose mother-love was deathless as her 
soul. 

The gray dawn came. The sky was over¬ 
cast ; 

The wind had changed and sobbed a re¬ 
quiem. 

Still Rizpah slept and dreamed. She heard 
the sound 

Of harps and timbrels in her girlhood 
home— 

When rush of wings awakened her. She 
rose, 

Her chilled form shaking unto death. She 
looked, 

And saw the loathsome vultures at their 
work. 

With iavelin staff in hand she beat them 
off, 

But bolder were they as she weaker grew, 
Till one huge bird swooped at her fierce, 
And sunk its talons in her wasted arm. 

She threw it off, the hideous monster fled, 


And Rizpah fell. It then began to rain. 
The famine ceased, and Rizpah’s watch was 
done. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 


SHALL WE KNOW EACH OTHER THERE? 

The following beautiful and comforting lines were recited at £ 
funeral in Philadelphia, in 1899, just after the minister’s remarks, 
by a sympathetic friend of the family. It was a marked innova¬ 
tion upon the customs of such occasions, but those who heard it 
declared it impressed both mourners and friends profoundly. 

W hen we hear the music ringing 

In the bright celestial dome— 
When sweet angels’ voices singing, 
Gladly bid us welcome home 
To the land of ancient story, 

Where the spirit knows no care 
In that land of life and glory— 

Shall we know each other there ? 

When the holy angels meet us, 

As we go to join their band, 

Shall we know the friends that greet us 
In that glorious spirit land ? 

Shall we see the same eyes shining 
On us as in days of yore ? 

Shall we feel the dear arms twining 
Fondly round us as before ? 

Yes, my earth-worn soul rejoices, 

And my weary heart grows light, 

For the thrilling angels’ voices 
And the angel faces bright, 

That shall welcome us in heaven, 

Are the loved ones long ago ; 

And to them ’tis kindly given 

Thus their mortal friends to know. 

Oh ye weary, sad, and tossed one, 

Droop not, faint not by the way ! 

Ye shall join the loved and just ones 
In that land of perfect day. 

Harp-strings, touched by angel fingers, 
Murmur in my rapturous ear;— 
Evermore their sweet song lingers— 

“ We shall know each other there.” 


HOW THE ORGAN WAS PAID FOR. 

Many churches have experienced difficulty in paying for an 
organ, and it is common to give entertainments for the raising of 
funds for this purpose. The following recitation may be helpfuf 
on such occasions. 

L oud the organ tones came swelling all 
the crowded aisles along ; 
Gladdest praise their music thrilling 
in a burst of worldless song. 




206 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


Oft the chink of falling money sounded soft 
the notes between, 

But the plate seemed slow in filling—little 
silver could be seen. 

Hands in pockets lingered sadly, faces 
looked unwilling, cold ; 

Gifts from slow, unwilling fingers o’er the 
plate’s rich velvet rolled. 

“ It’s Thanksgiving, dear,” a mother whis¬ 
pered to her questioning son ; 

“We must give to the new organ, all our 
pennies, every one. 

“ Then it will be ours, all paid for, and will 
sweeter music send 

In thanksgiving up to Heaven, with the 
angels’ praise to blend.” 

Slowly passed the plate of off’rings, while 
a child-voice whispered low : 

“I put in my every penny ; mamma, will 
the organ know 

“That I gave the yellow penny Uncle 
Charlie sent to me ?” 

“Yes, dear,” whispered soft the mother, 

“ God your gift will surely see,” 

“Give, oh, give!” the music pleaded. 
“ Give, that loud I may rejoice !” 

Then thro’ all the waiting stillness, piped a 
shrill indignant voice : 

“ Mamma, do yon think the organ saw that 
rich old Deacon Cox 

Only gave one little penny when they passed 
the music-box ?’ ’ 

Quick the little voice was quiet, but a flush 
of honest shame 

From awakened hearts uprising, over many 
faces came. 

And the Deacon, slowly rising, as the organ 
died away, 

Said, “ I humbly here acknowledge to a 
wicked heart to-day, 

Friends and brothers ; but my sinning I will 
alter as I live, 

And the half of what is lacking here to-day, 
I freely give; 

•* That our glorious new organ may give 
praise to God on high, 

With no debt of earth upon it that our gold 
^an satisfy.” 


Then arose another brother, and another 
still, and more, 

Giving with a lavish spending as they never 
gave before. 

Till the plate was overflowing and the 
organ debt secure; 

Then they took a contribution for Thanks¬ 
giving and the poor. . 

And as outward with the music a glad 
stream of people flows, 

Soft a childish voice cries, “ Mamma, I am 
sure the organ knows !’ 

Kate A. Bradeey. 


AN APOSTROPHE TO THE MOUNTAINS. 

ountains ! who was your builder! 
Who laid your awful foundations 
in the central fires, and piled your 
rocks and snow-capped summits among the 
clouds ? Who placed you in the gardens of 
the world, like noble altars, on which to 
offer the sacrificial gifts of many nations ? 

Who reared your rocky walls in the bar¬ 
ren desert, like towering pyramids, like 
monumental mounds, like giants’ graves, 
like dismantled piles of royal ruins, telling 
a mournful tale of glory, once bright, but 
now fled forever, as flee the dreams of a 
midsummer’s night? Who gave you a 
home in the islands of the sea,—those 
emeralds that gleam among the waves— 
those stars of ocean that mock the beauty 
of the stars of night ? 

Mountains! I know w T ho built you. It 
was God ! His name is written on your 
foreheads. He laid your cornerstones on 
that glorious morning when the orchestra 
of Heaven sounded the anthem of creation. 
He clothed your high, imperial forms in 
royal robes. 

He gave you a snowy garment, and wove 
for you a cloudy veil of crimson and gold. 
He crowned you with a diadem of icy jew¬ 
els ; pearls from the Arctic seas; gems 
from the frosty pole. Mountains ! ye are 
glorious. Ye stretch your granite arms 
away toward the vales of the undiscovered; 
ye have a longing for immortality. 

But, mountains ! ye long in vain. I called 
you glorious, and truly ye are; but your 
glory is like that of the starry heavens,— 




RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


207 


it shall pass away at the trumpet-blast 01 
the angel of the Most High. Old Father 
Time—that sexton of earth—has dug for 
you a deep dark tomb ; and in silence ye 
shall sleep after sea and shore shall have 
been pressed by the feet of the apocalyptic 
angel, through the long watches of an eter¬ 
nal night. 

ONE TOUCH OF NATURE. 

The Love of Mother the same in any Language . 

W E were at a railroad junction one night 
last week waiting a few hours for a 
train, in the waiting-room, in the 
only rocking-chair, trying to talk a brown¬ 
eyed boy to sleep, who talks a good deal, 
when he wants to keep awake. Presently 
a freight train arrived, and a beautiful little 
woman came in, escorted by a great big 
German, and they talked in German, he 
giving her evidently, lots of information 
about the route she was going, and telling 
her about her tickets and her baggage 
check, and occasionally patting her on the 
arm. 

At first our United States baby, who did 
not understand German, was tickled to hear 
them talk, and he “snickered” at the 
peculiar sound of the language that was 
being spoken. The great big man put his 
hand upon the old lady’s cheek, and said 
something encouraging, and a great big 
tear came to her eye, and she looked as 
happy as a queen. The little brown eyes 
of the boy opened pretty big, and his face 
sobered down from its laugh, and he said : 
“ Papa, is it his mother ” 

We knew it was, but how should a four- 
year-old sleepy baby, that couldn’t under¬ 
stand German, tell that the lady was the 
big man’s mother, and we asked him how 
he knew, and he said: “ O, the big man 
was so kind to her.” The big man bustled 
out, we gave the rocking-chair to the little 
old mother, and presently the man came in 
with the baggageman, and to him he spoke 
English. 

He said: “ This is my mothei, and she 
does not speak English. She is going to 
Iowa, and I have got to go back on the 
next train, but I want you to attend to her 
baggage, and see her on the right car, the 


rear car, with a good seat near the center, 
and tell the conductor she is my mother, 
and here’s a dollar for you, and I will do as 
much for your mother sometime.” 

The baggageman grasped the dollar with 
one hand, grasped the big man’s hand with 
the other, and looked at the little German 
with an expression that showed that he had 
a mother too, and we almost knew the old 
lady was well treated. Then we put the 
sleeping mind-reader on a bench and went 
out on the platform and got acquainted 
with the big German, and he talked of 
horse trading, buying and selling, and 
everything that showed he was a live 
business man, ready for any speculation, 
from buying a yearling colt to a crop of 
hops or barley, and that his life was a very 
busy one and at times full of hard work, 
disappointment and hard roads, but with 
ail his hurry and excitement, he was kind 
to his mother, and we loved him just a 
little, and when after a few minutes talk 
about business he said: “You must excuse 
me. I must go in the depot and see if my 
mother wants anything, ’ ’ we felt like taking 
his fat red hand and kissing it. O, the love 
of a mother is the same in any language, 
and it is good in all languages. The world 
would be poor without it. 

R. J. Burdette. 


NO SECTS IN HEAVEN. 

For Church Entertainment. 

T aeking of sects till late one eve, 

Of the various doctrines the saints 
believe, 

That night I stood, in a troubled dream, 

By the side of a darkly flowing stream. 

And a ‘ ‘ Churchman ’ ’ down to the r: ver 
came; 

When I heard a strange voice call his name: 
“Good father, stop; when you cross this 
tide, 

You must leave your robes on the other 
side.” 

But the aged father did not mind, 

And his long gown floated out behind, 

As down to the stream his way he took, 
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. 




2 oS 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


“I’m bound for heaven; and when I’m 
there, 

Shall want my Book of Common Prayer; 
And, though I put on a starry crown, 

I should feel quite lost without my gown.” 

Then he fixed his eyes on the shining track, 
But his gown was heavy and held him back; 
And the poor old father tried in vain 
A single step in the flood to gain. 

I saw him again on the other side, 

But his silk gown floated on the tide ; 

And no one asked, in that blissful spot, 
Whether he belonged to the ‘ ‘ church ’ ’ or 
not. 

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed ; 
His dress of a sober hue was made : 

‘ ‘ My coat and hat must all be gray— 

I cannot go any other way.” 

Then he buttoned his coat straight up to his 
chin, 

And staidly, solemnly waded in, 

And his broad-brimmed hat he pulled down 
tight, 

Over his forehead so cold and white. 

But a strong wind carried away his hat, 

A moment he silently sighed over that; 

And then, as he gazed to the farther shore, 
The coat slipped off, and was seen no more* 

As he entered heaven his suit of gray 
Went quietly sailing, away, away ; 

And none of the angels questioned him 
About the width of his beaver’s brim. 

Next came Dr. Watts, with a bundle of 
psalms 

Tied nicely up in his aged arms, 

And hymns as many, a very wise thing, 
That the people in heaven “all ’round” 
might sing. 

But I thought that he heaved an anxious 
sigh, 

As he saw that the river ran broad and 
high; 

And looked rather surprised as one by one 
The psalms and hymns in the wave went 
down. 


And after him, with his MSS., 

Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness; 

But he cried, “ Dear me ! what shall I do ? 
The water has soaked them through and 
through.” 

And there on the river far and wide, 

Away they went down the swollen tide ; 

And the saint, astonished, passed through 
alone 

Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. 

Then, gravely walking, two saints by name 
Down to the stream together came ; 

But as they stopped at the river’s brink, 

I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

“Sprinkled or plunged? may I ask you, 
friend, 

How you attained to life’s great end ? ” 

“ Thus, with a few drops on my brow,” 

“ But I have been dipped as you see me 
now.” 

“ And I really think it will hardly do, 

As I’m ‘close communion,’ to cross with 
you. 

You’re bound, I know, to the realms of 
bliss, 

But you must go that way, and I’ll go 
this.” 

Then straightway plunging with all his 
might, 

Away to the left—his friend to the right, 
Apart they went from this world of sin, 

But at last together they entered in. 

And now, when the river was rolling on, 

A Presbyterian church went down ; 

Of women there seemed an innumerable 
throng, 

But the men I could count as they passed 
along. 

And concerning the road they never could 
agree 

The old or the new way, which it could be, 
Nor never a moment stopped to think 
That both would lead to the river’s brink. 

And a sound of murmuring, long and loud, 
Came ever up from the moving crowd ; 
“You’re in the old way, and I’m in the 
new; 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


2 09 


That is the false, and this is the true ”— 

Or “ I’m in the old way, and you’re in the 
new ; 

That is the false, and this is the true.” 

But the brethren only seemed to speak : 
Modest the sisters walked and meek, 

And if ever one of them chanced to say 
Whac trouble she met on the way, 

How she longed to pass to the other side, 
Nor feared to cross over the swelling tide, 

A voice arose from the brethren then, 

‘ ‘ Tet no one speak but the holy men ; 

For have ye not heard the words of Paul, 

‘ Oh, let the women keep silence all ? ’ ” 

I watched them long in my curious dream, 
Till they stood by the borders of the 
stream ; 

Then, just as I thought, the two ways 
met; 

But all the brethren were talking yet, 

And would talk on till the heaving tide 
Carried them over side by side— 

Side by side, for the way was one ; 

The toilsome journey of life was done ; 

And all who in Christ the Saviour died, 
Came out alike on the other side. 

No forms, or crosses, or books had they, 

No gowns of silk or suits of gray ; 

No creeds to guide them, or MSS.; 

For all had put on Christ’s righteousness. 

E. H.J. Cleveland. 


PAPA’S LETTER. 

was sitting in my study, 

Writing letters, when I heard, 

“ Please, dear mamma, Mary told me 
Mamma mustn’t be ’isturbed ; 

“ But I’s tired of the kitty, 

Want some ozzer fing to do ! 

Witing letters, is ’ou, mamma ? 

Tan’t I wite a letter, too ?” 

u Not now, darling, mamma’s busy ; 

Run and play with kitty, now.” 

•* No, no, mamma, me wite letter— 

Tan if ’ou will show me how.” 

I would paint my darling’s portrait 
As his sweet eyes searched my face— 

14 H 


Hair of gold and eyes of azure, 

Form of childish, witching grace. 

But the eager face was clouded, 

As I slowly shook my head, 

Till I said, “ I’ll make a letter 
Of you, darling boy, instead.” 

So I parted back the tresses 

From his forehead high and white s 

And a stamp in sport I pasted 
’Mid its waves of golden light. 

Then I said, “ Now, little letter, 

Go away, and bear good news.” 

And I smiled as down the staircase 
Clattered loud the little shoes. 

heaving me, the darling hurried 
Down to Mary in his glee : 

“ Mamma’s witing lots of letters ; 

I’s a letter, Mary—-see ?” 

No one heard the little prattler 

As once more he climbed the stair, 

Reached his little cap and tippet, 

Standing on the entry chair. 

No one heard the front door open, 

No one saw the golden hair 

As it floated o’er his shoulders 
In the crisp October air. 

Down the street the baby hastened 
Till he reached the office door. 

“ I’s a letter, Mr. Postman, 

Is there room for any more ? 

“ ’Cause dis letter’s doin’ to papa : 

Papa lives with God, ’ou know. 

Mamma sent me for a letter ; 

Does ’ou fink ’at I tan go ?” 

But the clerk in wonder answered, 

“ Not to-day, my little man.” 

“ Den I’ll find anuzzer office, 

’Cause I must go if I tan.” 

Fain the clerk would have detained him. 
But the pleading face was gone, 

And the little feet were hastening— 

By the busy crowd swept on. 

Suddenly the crowd was parted, 

People fled to left and right 




210 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


As a pair of maddened horses 
At the moment dashed in sight. 

No one saw the baby figure— 

No one saw the golden hair, 

Till a voice of frightened sweetness 
Rang out on the autumn air. 

’Twas too late—a moment only 
Stood the beauteous vision there, 

Then the little face lay lifeless, 
Govered o’er with golden hair 

Reverently they raised my darling, 
Brushed away the curls of gold, 

Saw the stamp upon the forehead, 
Crowing now so icy cold. 

Not a mark the face disfigured, 
Showing where a hoof had trod ; 

But the little life was ended— 

“ Papa’s letter ” was with God. 


THE CYNIC. 

T he cynic is one who never sees a good 
quality in a man, and never fails to 
see a bad one. He is the human 
owl, vigilant in darkness and blind to light, 
mousing for vermin, and never seeing noble 
game. 

The cynic puts all human actions into 
only two classes—openly bad, and secretly 
bad. All virtue, and generosity, and disin¬ 
terestedness, are merely the appearance of 
good, but selfish at the bottom. He holds 
that no man does a good thing except for 
profit. The effect of his conversation upon 
your feelings is to chill and sear them ; to 
send you away sour and morose. 

His criticisms and innuendoes fall indis¬ 
criminately upon every lovely thing, like 
. frost upon the flowers. If Mr. A. is pro¬ 
nounced a religious man, he will reply: 
yes, on Sundays. Mr. B. has just joined 
the church: certainly; the elections are 
coming on. The minister of the gospel is 
called an example of diligence : it is his 
trade. Such a man is generous : of other 
men’s money. This man is obliging: to 
lull suspicion and cheat you. That man is 
upright: because he is green. 

Thus his eye strains out every good qual¬ 
ity, and takes in only the bad. To him 


religion is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation 
or fraud, virtue only a want of opportunity, 
and undeniable purity, asceticism. The live¬ 
long day he will coolly sit with sneering 
lip, transfixing every character that is pre¬ 
sented. 

It is impossible to indulge in such habit¬ 
ual severity of opinion upon our fellow-men, 
without injuring the tenderness and delicacy 
of our own feelings. A man will be what his 
most cherished feelings are. If he encourage 
a noble generosity, every feeling will be 
enriched by it; if he nurse bitter and 
envenomed thoughts, his own spirit will 
absorb the poison, aud he will crawl among 
men as a burnished adder, whose life is 
mischief, and whose errand is death. 

He who hunts for flowers will find flow¬ 
ers ; and he who loves weeds may find 
weeds. 

Let it be remembered that no man, who is 
not himself morally diseased, will have a 
relish for disease in others. Reject then 
the morbid ambition of the cynic, or cease 
to call yourself a man. 

H. W. Beecher. 


ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

Short, practical reading suitable for any occasion when 
didactics are admissible. 

Y oung men, you are the architects of 
your own fortunes. Rely upon your 
own strength of body and soul. Take 
for your star self-reliance, faith, honesty, 
and industry. Inscribe on your banner, 
“ Luck is a fool, pluck is a hero. ” Don’t 
take too much advice—keep at your helm 
and steer your own ship, and remember that 
the great art of commanding is to take a 
fair share of the work. Don’t practice too 
much humanity. Think well of yourself, 
Strike out. Assume your own position. 
Put potatoes in your cart, over a rough 
road, and small ones go to the bottom. Rise 
above the envious and jealous. Fire above 
the mark you intend to hit. Energy, in¬ 
vincible determination, with a right motive, 
are the levers that move the world. Don’t 
drink. Don’t chew. Don’t smoke. Don’t 
swear. Don’t deceive. Don’t read novels. 
Don’t marry until you can support a wife. 
Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous 





RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


411 


Be civil. Read the papers. Advertise your 
business. Make money and do good with 
it. Love your God and fellowmen. Love 
truth and virtue. Love your country, and 
obey its laws. If this advice be implicitly 
followed by the young men of the country, 
the millennium is at hand. 

Noah Porter. 


THE LAST HYMN. 

HE Sabbath day was ended in a village 
by the sea, 

The uttered benediction touched the 
people tenderly 

And they rose to face the sunset in the 
glowing, lighted west, 

And then hastened to their dwellings for 
God’s blessed boon of rest. 

And they looked across the waters, and a 
storm was raging there, 

A fierce spirit moved above them—a wild 
spirit of the air ; 

And it lashed, and shook and tore them, till 
they thundered, groaned and boomed, 

And alas ! for any vessel in their yawning 
gulfs entombed. 

Very anxious were the people on the rocky 
coast of Wales, 

Lest the dawn of coming morrows should 
be telling awful tales, 

When the sea had spent its passion and 
should cast upon the shore 

Bits of wreck and swollen victims, as it had 
done heretofore, 

With the rough winds blowing round her, 
a brave woman strained her eyes, 

And she saw along the billows a large 
vessel fall and rise. 

Oh, it did not need a prophet to tell what 
the end must be ! 

For no ship could ride in safety near the 
shore on such a sea. 

Then pitying people hurried from their 
homes and thronged the beach. 

Oh, for power to cross the water and the 
perishing to reach ! 

Helpless hands were wrung with sorrow, 
tender hearts grew cold with dread ; 

And the ship, urged by the tempest, to the 
fatal rock-shore sped. 


“ She has parted in the middle ! Oh, the 
half of her goes down ! 

God have mercy ! Is Heaven far to seek 
for those who drown ? ’ ’ 

Lo ! when next the white, shocked faces 
looked with terror on the sea, 

Only one last clinging figure on the spar 
was seen to be. 

Near the trembling watchers came the wreck 
tossed by the wave, 

And the man still clung and floated, though 
no power on earth could save. 

‘ ‘ Could we send him a short message ? 

here’s a trumpet. Shout away ! ” 
’Twas the preacher’s hand that took it, and 
he wondered what to say. 

Any memory of his sermon—firstly—sec¬ 
ondly ! Ah, no ! 

There was but one thing to utter in that 
awful hour of woe ; 

So he shouted through the r/umpet, ‘ ‘ Look 
to Jesus. Can you hear ? ” 

And “ Ay, ay, sir! ” rang the answer o’er 
the water loud and clear. 

Then they listened. He is singing, “ Jesus, 
lover of my soul! ’ ’ 

And the winds brought back the echo, 
‘ ‘ While the nearer waters roll; ’ ’ 
Strange, indeed., it was to hear him, “ Till 
the storm of life is passed, ’ ’ 

Singing bravely from the waters, “ Oh, 
receive my soul at last! ’ ’ 

He could Lave no other refuge. “ Hangs 
my helpless soul on Thee ; 

Leave, ah, leave me not”—the singer 
dropped at last into the sea, 

And then the watchers, looking homeward, 
through their eyes with tears made dim, 
Said, “ Pie passed to be with Jesus in the 
singing of that hymn.” 

M. Farmington. 


THE BRAVEST OF BATTLES. 

he bravest battle that ever was fought, 
Shall I tell you where and when ? 
On the maps of the world you’ll find 
it not; 

’Twas fought by the mothers of men. 






212 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


Nay, not with cannon or battle shot, 
With sword or nobler pen ; 

Nay, not with eloquent word or thought 
From mouth of wonderful men. 

But deep in a walled-up woman’s heart— 
Of woman that would not yield, 

But bravely, silently bore her part— 

Lo ! there is the battle-field. 

No marshalling troup, no bivouac song, 
No banner to gleam and wave 1 

But oh, these battles, they last so long— 
From babyhood to the grave. 

Joaquin Miller. 


INFLUENCE OF SHALL THINGS. 

Drop a pebble in th’ w T ater—jes a splash an’ 
it is gone, 

But th’s half a hundred ripples circlin’ on 
an’ on an’ on, - 

Spreadin’, spreadin’ from the centre, flowin’ 
on out to the sea, 

An’ th’ ain’t no way o’ tellin’ where th’ 
end is goin’ to be. 

Drop a pebble in th’ water—in a minute ye 
forget, 

But th’s little waves a’ flowin’ an’ th’s rip¬ 
ples circlin’ yet, 

All th’ ripples flowin’, flowin’ to a mighty 
wave has grown, 

An’ ye’ve disturbed a mighty river—jes’ by 
droppin’ in a stone. 

Drop an unkind word or careless—in a min¬ 
ute it is gone, 

But th’s half a hundred ripples circlin’ on 
an’ on an’ on, 

Tli’ keep spreadin’, spreadin’, spreadin’ 
from the centre as th’ go, 

An’ the’ ain’t no way to stop ’em, once 
ye’ve started ’em to flow. 

Drop an unkind word or careless—in a min¬ 
ute ye forget, 

But th’s little waves a’ flowin’ and the’s rip¬ 
ples circlin’ yet, 

An’ perhaps in some sad heart a mighty 
wave of tears ye’ve stirred, 

An’ disturbed a life et’s happy when ye 
dropped an unkind word. 

Drop a word o’ cheer an’ kindness—jes’ a 
flash and it is gone, 


But th’s half a hundred ripples circlin’ on 
an’ on an’ on, 

Bearin’ hope an’ joy an’ comfort on each 
splashin’, dashin’ wave, 

Till ye wouldn’t b’lieve th’ volume o’ th’ 
one kind word ye gave. 

Drop a word o’ cheer and kindness—in a 
minute ye forget, 

But th’s gladness still a’ swellin’ an’ th’s 
joy a’ circlin’ yet, 

An’ ye’ve rolled a wave of comfort whose 
sweet music can be heard 

Over miles an’ miles o’ water—jes’ by drop- 
pin’ a kind word. 


DON’T BE IN A HURRY, 

D on’t be in a hurry to answer yes or no; 
Nothing’s lost by being reasonably 
slow, 

In a hasty moment you may give consent, 
And through years of torment leisurely 
repent. 

If a lover seeks you to become his wife, 
Happiness or misery may be yours for life : 
Don’t be in a hurry your feelings to confess, 
But think the matter over before you answer 
yes. 

Should one ask forgiveness for a grave 
offence, 

Honest tears betraying earnest penitence, 
Pity and console him and his fears allay, 
And don’t be in a hurry to drive the child 
away. 

Hurry brings us worry; worry wears us 
out, 

Easy going people know what they’re 
about, 

Heedless haste will bring us surely to the 
ditch, 

And trouble overwhelm us if we hurry to be 
rich. 

Don’t be in a hurry to throw yourself 
away ; 

By the side of wisdom for a wild delay, 
Make your life worth living; nobly act 
your part; 

And don’t be in a hurry to spoil it at the 
start. 




RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


213 


Don’t be in a hurry to speak an angry word ; 
Don’t be in a hurry to spread the tale 
you’ve heard. 

Don’t be in a hurry with evil ones to go ; 
And don’t be in a hurry to answer yes or no. 


APOSTROPHE TO NIAGARA. 

onarch of floods ! How shall I ap¬ 
proach thee ?—how speak of thy 
glory ?—how extol thy beauty and 
grandeur ? Ages have seen thy awful 
majesty ; earth has paid tribute to thy great¬ 
ness ; the best and wisest among men have 
bent the knee at thy footstool ! but none 
have described—none can describe thee ! 
Alone thou standest among the wonders of 
Nature, unshaken by the shock of contend¬ 
ing elements, flinging back the flash of the 
lightning, and outroaring the thunder 
of the tempest! Allied to the everlasting 
hills,—claiming kindred with the eternal 
flood, thou art pillared upon the one, the 
other supplies thy surge. Primeval rocks 
environ, clouds cover, and the rainbow 
crowns thee. A divine sublimity rests on 
thy fearful brow, an awful beauty is revealed 
in thy terrific countenance, the earth is 
shaken by thy tremendous voice. 

Born in the dark past and alive to the dis¬ 
tant future, what to thee are the paltry con¬ 
cerns of man’s ambitions ?—the rise and fall 
of empires and dynasties, the contests of 
kings or the crash of thrones ? Thou art 
unmoved by the fate of nations, and the 
revolutions of the earth are to thee but the 
pulses of time. Kings before thee are but 
men, and man, a type of insignificance. 

“ Thou dost make the soul 
A wondering witness of thy majesty ; 

And while it rushes with delirious joy 
To tread thy vestibule, dost chain its steps 
And check its rapture, with the humbling 
view 

Of its own nothingness. 


GOOD OLD MOTHERS. 

Suitable for a Family Reunion Where an Aged 
Mother is Present. 

OMKBODY has said that “ a mother’s love 
is the only virtue that did not suffer by 
the fall of Adam.” Whether Adam 


fell or not, it is quite clear that the unselfish 
love of a good mother is the crowning glory 
of the race. No matter how long and how 
sorely it may be tried, its arms are ever open 
to receive the returning prodigal. One 
faithful heart never loses its affection for the 
wanderer who has strayed from the fold. 
Adversity and sorrow may come with all 
their terrible force, but the motherly affec¬ 
tion clings to its idol closely. We never 
see a good old mother sitting in the arm¬ 
chair that we do not think of the storms 
which have pelted into her cheerful face 
without souring it. Her smile is a solace, 
her presence a benediction. A man may 
stand more exertion of some kinds than a 
woman, but he is apt to lose much of his 
laughter, his cheerfulness, his gentleness, 
and his trust. Yet we rarely find a frail 
mother whose spirit has been worn thread¬ 
bare and unlovely by trials that would have 
turned a dozen men into misanthropes and 
demons. A sweet old mother is common. 
A sweet old father is not so common. In 
exhaustless patience, hope, faith, and be¬ 
nevolence the mothers are sure to lead. 
Alas, that their worth too often is not fully 
known and properly appreciated until they 
pass beyond mortal reach ! God bless the 
good old mothers ! 


THE FUNERAL. 

was walking in Savannah, past a church 
decayed and dim, 

When there slowly through the window 
came a plaintive funeral hymn ; 

And a sympathy awakened, and a wonder 
quickly grew, 

Till I found myself environed in a little 
negro pew. 

Out at front a colored couple sat in sorrow k 
nearly wild ; 

On the altar was a coffin, in the coffin was 
a child. 

I could picture him when living—curly 
hair, protruding lip— 

And had seen, perhaps, a thousand, in my 
hurried Southern trip ; 

But no baby ever rested in the soothing 
arms of Death 

That had fanned more flames ot sorrow 
with his little fluttering breath ; 








RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


2 l \ 

And no funeral ever glistened with more 
sympathy profound 

Than was in the chain of tear-drops that 
enclasped those mourners round. 

Rose a sad old colored preacher at the little 
wooden desk— 

With a manner grandly awkward, with a 
countenance grotesque; 

With simplicity and shrewdness on his 
Ethiopian face; 

With the ignorance and wisdom of a crushed 
undying race. 

And he said: “Now don’ be weepin’ for 
dis pretty bit o’ clay— 

For de little boy who lived dere, he done 
gone an’ run away ! 

He was doin’ very finely, an’ he ’preciate 
your love; 

But his sure ’nuff Father want him in de 
large house up above. 

“ Now he didn’t give you dat baby, by a 
hundred thousan’ mile ! 

He just think you need some sunshine, an 5 
he lent it for awhile! 

An’ he let you keep an’ love it till your 
hearts was bigger grown, 

An’ dese silver tears you’r sheddin’s jes de 
interest on de loan. 

“ Here’s yer oder pretty chilrun !—don’ be 
makin’ it appear 

Dat your love got sort o’ ’nop’lized by dis 
little fellow here ; 

Don’ pile up too much your sorrow on deir 
little mental shelves, 

So’s to kind o’ set ’em wonderin’ if dey’re 
no account demselves. 

“Just you think, you poor deah mounahs, 
creepin’ long o’er Sorrow’s way, 

What a blessed little picnic dis yere baby’s 
got to-day ! 

Your good faders and good moders crowd 
de little fellow round 

In de angel-tented garden of de Big Plan¬ 
tation Ground. 

“ An’ dey ask him, ‘ Was your feet sore ? ’ 
an’ take off his little shoes, 

An’ dey wash him, an’ dey kiss him, an’ 
dey say, ‘ Now, what’s de news ? ’ 


An’ de Lawd done cut his tongue loose; 
den de little fellow say, 

‘ All our folks down in de valley tries to 
keep de hebbenly way.’ 

“An’ his eyes dey brightly sparkle at de 
pretty tings he view ; 

Den a tear come, an’ he whisper, ‘ But I 
want my pa’yents, too ! ’ 

But de Angel Chief Musician teach dat boy 
a little song; 

Says, ‘ If only dey be fait’ful dey will soon 
be comin long.’ 

“ An’ he’ll get an education dat will prob- 
erbly be worth 

Seberal times as much as any you could 
buy for him on earth ; 

He’ll be in de Eawd’s big school house, 
widout no contempt or fear, 

While dere’s no end to de bad tings might 
have happened to him here. 

“So, my pooah dejected mounahs, let your 
hearts wid Jesus rest, 

An’ don’ go ter criticisin’ dat ar One w’at 
knows de best! 

He have sent us many comforts—He have 
right to take away— 

To de Eawd be praise an’ glory, now and 
ever!—Let us pray.’’ 

Wile Carleton. 


WANTED—A MINISTER’S WIFE. 

Suitable to Church Entertainment. 

T length we have settled a Pastor,— 
I am sure I cannot tell why 
The people should grow so restless, 
Or candidates grow so shy. 

But after two yeares’ searching 

For the “ smartest ’’ man in the land, 
In a fit of desperation 

We took the nearest at hand. 

And really he answers nicely 

To “ fill up the gap,’’ you know ; 

To “ run the machine ” and “ bring up 
arrears,” 

And make things generally go. 

He has a few little failings ; 

His sermons are commonplace quite j 
But his manner is very charming, 

And his teeth are perfectly white. 




RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


215 


And so of all the “ dear people,” 

Not one in a hundred complains, 

For beauty and grace of manner 
Are so much better than brains ; 

But the parish have all concluded 
He needs a partner for life, 

To shine a gem in the parlor : 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s Wife!” 

“ Wanted—a perfect lady, 

Delicate, gentle, refined, 

With every beauty of person, 

And every endowment of mind. 

Fitted by early culture 
To move in a fashionable life— 

Please notice our advertisement: 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s Wife !” 

Wanted—a thorough-bred worker, 

Who well to her household looks, 

(Shall we see our money wasted, 

By extravagant Irish cooks ?) 

Who cut the daily expenses 

With economy sharp as a knife, 

And washes and scrubs in the kitchen: 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s Wife !” 

A “ very domestic person,” 

To “ callers ” she must not be “ out 
It has such a bad appearance 
For her to be gadding about,— 

Only to visit the parish 
Every year of her life, 

And attend the funerals and weddings: 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s wife !” 

To conduct the “ ladies’ meetings,” 

The “ sewing circle ” attend, 

And when we have ‘ ‘ work for the soldiers,” 
Her ready assistance to lend ; 

To clothe the destitute children, 

Where sorrow and want are rife, 

To hunt up Sunday School scholars : 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s Wife !” 

Careful to entertain strangers, 

Traveling agents and “ such ;” 

Of this kind of “ angel visits ” 

The deacons had so much, 

As to prove a perfect nuisance, 

And ‘ ‘ hopes these plagues of their life 
Can soon be sent to their parsons : 

“ Wante4 — 0- Minister’s Wife!” 


A perfect pattern of prudence 
To all others, spending less, 

But never disgracing the parish 
By looking shabby in dress. 

Playing the organ on Sunday 
Would aid our laudable strife 
To save the society’s money : 

“ Wanted—a Minister’s Wife !” 

And when we have found the person, 

We hope, by working the two, 

To lift our debt, and build a new church— 
Then we shall know what to do ; 

For they will be worn and weary, 

Needing a change of life, 

And we’ll advertise—“ Wanted— 

A Minister and his Wife !” 


FORGIVENESS. 

y heart was galled with bitter wrong, 
Revengeful feelings fired my blood, 
I brooded hate with passion strong 
While round my couch black demons 
stood. 

Kind Morpheus wooed my eyes in vain, 

My burning brain conceived a plan ; 

Revenge ! I cried, in bitter strain, 

But conscience whispered, “ be a man.” 

Forgive ! a gentle spirit cried, 

I yielded to my nobler part, 

Uprose and to my foe I hied, 

Forgave him freely from my heart. 

The big tears from their fountain rose, 

He melted, vowed my friend to be, 

That night I sank in sweet repose 

And dreamed that angels smiled on me ! 

Anonymous. 


ADVICE TO A YOUNG MAN. 

EMEMBER, my son, you have to work. 
Whether you handle a pick or a pen, 
a wheelbarrow or a set of books, 
digging ditches or editing a paper, ringing 
an auction bell or writing funny things, 
you must work. If you look around, you 
will see the men who are the most able to 
live the rest of their days without work are 
the men who work the hardest. Don’t be 
afraid of killing yourself with overwork. 
It is beyond your power to do that on the 







RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


216 

sunny side of thirty. They die sometimes, 
but it is because they quit work at 6 p.m., 
and don’t get home until 2 a.m. It’s 
the interval that kills, my son. The work 
gives you an appetite for your meals ; it 
lends solidity to your slumbers ; it gives 
you a perfect and grateful appreciation of 
a holiday. 

There are young men who do not work, 
but the world is not proud of them. It 
does not know their names even ; it simply 
speaks of them as “ old So-and-so’s boys.” 
Nobody likes them ; the great busy world 
doesn’t know that they are there. So find 
out what you want to be and do, and take 
off your coat and make a dust in the world. 
The busier you are, the less harm you will 
be apt to get into, the sweeter will be your 
sleep, the brighter and happier your holi¬ 
days, and the better satisfied will the world 
be with you. R. J. Burdette. 


TACT AND TALENT. 

Practical Didactic Selection. Should be Read in 
a Deliberate and Reflective Manner. 

T ALENT is something, but tact is every¬ 
thing. Talent is serious, sober, grave 
and respectable ; tact is all that, and 
more too. It is not a sixth sense* but it is 
the life of all the five. It is the open eye, 
the quick ear, the judging taste, the keen 
smell, and the lively touch ; it is the inter¬ 
preter of all riddles, the surmounter of all 
difficulties, the remover of all obstacles. It 
is useful in all places, and at all times ; it is 
useful in solitude, for it shows a man his 
way into the world ; it is useful in society, 
for it shows him his way through the world. 

Talent is power, tact is skill ; talent is 
weight, tact is momentum ; talent knows 
what to do, tact knows how to do it; talent 
makes a man respectable, tact will make 
him respected ; talent is wealth, tact is 
ready money. 

For all the practical purposes of life, tact 
carries it against talent, ten to one. Take 
them to the theatre, and put them against 
each other on the stage, and talent shall 
produce you a tragedy that will scarcely 
live long enough to be condemned, while 
tact keeps the house in a roar, night after 
night, with its successful farces. There is 


no want of dramatic talent, there is no wacit 
of dramatic tact; but they are seldom 
together; so we have successful pieces 
which are not respectable, and respectable 
pieces which are not successful. 

Take them to the bar, and let them shake 
their learned curls at e ach other in legal 
rivalry. Talent sees its way clearly, but tact 
is first at its journey’s end. Talent has 
many a compliment from the bench, but tact 
touches fees from attorneys and clients. 
Talent speaks learnedly and logically, tact 
triumphantly. Talent makes the world 
wonder that it gets on no faster, tact 
excites astonishment that it gets on so fast. 
And the secret is, that tact has no weight 
to carry; it makes no false steps; it hits 
the right nail on the head ; it loses no time ; 
it takes all hints ; and, by keeping its eye 
on the weathercock, is ready to take advan¬ 
tage of every wind that blows. 

Take them into the chnrch. Talent has 
always something worth hearing, tact is 
sure of abundance of hearers ; talent 
may obtain a living, tact will make one ; 
talent gets a good name, tact a great one ; 
talent convinces, tact converts ; talent is an 
honor to the profession, tact gains honor 
from the profession. 

Take them to court. Talent feels its 
weight, tact finds its way; talent commands, 
tact is obeyed ; talent is honored with appro¬ 
bation, and tact is blessed by preferment. 

Place them in the Senate. Talent has 
the ear of the house, but tact wins its heart 
and has its votes ; talent is fit for employ¬ 
ment, but tact is fitted for it. Tact has a 
knack of slipping into place with a sweet 
silence and glibness of movement, as a bil¬ 
liard-ball insinuates itself into the pocket. 
It seems to know everything, without learn¬ 
ing anything. It has served an invisible 
and extemporary apprenticeship ; it wants 
no drilling ; it never ranks in the awkward 
squad ; it has no left hand, no deaf ear, no 
blind side. It puts on no looks of wondrous 
wisdom, it has no air of profundity, but 
plays with the details of place as dexterously 
as a well-taught hand flourishes over the 
keys of the piano-forte. It has all the air 
of commonplace, and all the force and 
power of genius. 


London “Atlas / 1 



RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


217 


AFTER TWENTY YEARS. 

T he coffin was a plain one—a poor miser¬ 
able pine coffin. One flower on the 
top ; no lining of white satin for the 
pale brow ; no smooth ribbons about the 
coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid 
decently back, but there was no primped 
cap with the tie beneath the chin. The 
sufferer of cruel poverty smiled in her 
sleep ; she had found bread, rest and health. 

“ I want to see my mother,” sobbed a 
poor little child, as the undertaker screwed 
down the top. 

‘‘You cannot; get out of my way, boy ; 
why does not someone take the brat ? ” 
‘‘Only let me see one minute!” cried 
the orphan, clutching the side of the charity 
box, as he gazed upon the coffin, agonized 
tears streaming down the cheeks on which 
the childish bloom ever lingered. Oh ! it 
was painful to hear him cry the words : 
‘‘Only once; let me see m}^ mother, only 
once!’’ 

Quickly and brutally the heartless mon¬ 
ster struck the boy away, so that he reeled 
with the blow. For a moment the boy 
stood panting with grief and rage—his blue 
eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire 
glistened through his eyes as he raised his 
little arm with a most unchildish laugh, 
and screamed: ‘‘When I’m a man I’ll be 
revenged for that ! ” 

There was a coffin and a heap of earth 
between the mother and the poor forsaken 
child—a monument much stronger than 
granite, built in the boy’s heart, the mem¬ 
ory of the heartless deed. 

The court house was crowded to suffoca¬ 
tion. 

“Does any one appear as this man’s 
counsel ? ” asked the judge. 

There was a silence when he had finished, 
until, with lips tightly pressed together, a 
look of strange intelligence, blended with 
haughty reserve on his handsome features, 
a young man stepped forward with a firm 
tread and a kindly eye to plead for the 
friendless one. He was a stranger, but at 
the first sentence there was a silence. 
The splendor of his genius entranced—con¬ 
vinced. 

The man who could not find a friend was 
acquitted. 


“ May God bless you, sir; I cannot! ” 
he exclaimed. 

“ I want no thanks,” replied the stranger. 

‘ ‘ I—I—I—believe you are unknown to 
me.” 

“Sir, I will refresh your memory. 
Twenty years ago, this day, you struck a 
broken-hearted little boy away from his 
mother’s coffin. I was that boy.” 

The man turned pale. 

“ Have you rescued me then to take my 
life?” 

“ No ; I have a sweeter revenge. I have 
saved the life of a man whose brutal con¬ 
duct has rankled in my breast for the last 
twenty years. Go, then, and remember the 
tears of a friendless child.” 

The man bowed his head in shame, and 
went from the presence of magnaminity— 
as grand to him as it was incomprehensible. 


STICK TO YOUR BUSH. 

hen I was but a tiny boy, 

And went to a village school, 

I thought myself, as boys will think, 
That I was no man’s fool. 

But in the village there was one 
Who was the fool of all ; 

Poor fellow, he was Crazy Ben, 

A man both lithe and tall. 

But Ben was gaunt and gray, a fool, 

The village Solons cried : 

He’d been so, thus they told the tale, 

E’er since his true love died. 

But Ben was kind, I not afraid, 

And Ben became my chum ; 

E’en though at times poor Ben took freaks, 
His idiot tongue was dumb. 

One day that tongue unloosed a truth 
That made me then to wince, 

And though it came from idiot lips, 

Has never left me since. 

That day we berrying had gone, 

And Ben had gone along, 

And, boy-like, I from bush to bush 
Had wandered with the throng. 

Ben stuck, in silence, to one spot, 

And whispered this to me: 

“ Stick to your bush if you of fruit 




218 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


A basketful would see.” 

And so I did, and proved the fact; 

While through the world we push, 
There’s nothing better to be learned 
Than this—“Stick to your bush.” 

J. W. Watson. 


WE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE 

SMILE. 

E are not always glad when we smile, 
For the heart in a tempest of pain 
May live in the guise of a laugh in the 
eyes, 

As the rainbow may live in the rain ; 
And the stormless night of our woe 
May hang out a radiant star, 

Whose light in the sky of distress is a lie 
As black as the thunder clouds are. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 

For the world is so fickle and gay, 

That our doubts and our fears, and our 
griefs and our tears, 

Are laughingly hidden away ; 

And the touch of a frivolous hand 
May oftener wound than caress, 

And the kisses that drip from the reveller’s 
Hp 

May oftener blister than bless. 

We are not always glad when we smile, 

But the conscience is quick to record 
That the sorrow and the sin we are holding 
within 

Is pain in the sight of the Lord ; 

Yet ever—O ever till pride 

And pretence shall cease to revile, 

The inner recess of the heart must confess 
We are not always glad when we smile. 

James Whitcomb Riley. 


PEGGING AWAY. 

A Lesson in Perseverance . 

T here was an old shoemaker, sturdy 
as steel, 

Of great wealth and repute in his 
day, 

Who, if questioned his secret of luck to 
reveal, 


Would chirp like a bird on a spray, 

“ It isn’t so much the vocation you’re in, 
Or your liking for it,” he would say, 
“As it is that forever, through thick and 
through thin, 

You should keep up a-pegging away.” 

I have found it a maxim of value, whose 
truth 

Observation has proved in the main ; 

And which well might be vaunted a watch¬ 
word by youth 

In the labor of hand and of brain ; 

For even if genius and talent are cast 
Into work with the strongest display, 
You can never be sure of achievement at 
last 

Unless you keep pegging away. 

There are shopmen who might into states¬ 
men have grown, 

Politicians for handiwork made, 

Some poets who better in workshops had 
shone, 

And mechanics best suited in trade ; 

But when once in harness, however it fit, 
Buckle down to your work night and 
day, 

Secure in the triumph of hand or of wit, 

If you only keep pegging away. 

There are times in all tasks when the fiend 
Discontent 

Advises a pause or a change, 

And, on field far away and irrelevant bent, 
The purpose is tempted to range ; 

Never heed, but in sound recreation restore 
Such traits as are slow to obey, 

And then, more persistent and stanch than 
before, 

Keep pegging and pegging away. 

Leave fitful endeavors for such as would 
cast 

Their spendthrift existence in vain. 

For the secret of wealth in the present and 
past, 

And of fame and of honor, is plain ; 

It lies not in change, nor in sentiment nice, 
Nor in wayward exploit and display, 

But just in the shoemaker’s homely advice 
To keep pegging and pegging away. 

“ New York Press.” 





RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


219 


LIFE IS WHAT WE MAKE IT. 

L ife is what we make it. To some, this 
may appear to be a very singular, 
if not extravagant statement. You 
look upon this life and upon this world, and 
you derive from them, it may be, a very 
different impression. You see the earth, 
perhaps, only as a collection of blind, ob¬ 
durate, inexorable elements and powers. 
You look upon the mountains that stand 
fast forever ; you look upon the seas that 
roll upon every shore their ceaseless tides ; 
you walk through the annual round of the 
seasons ; all things seem to be fixed,—sum¬ 
mer and winter, seed-time and harvest, 
growth and decay,—and so they are. 

But does not the mind spread its own hue 
over all these scenes ? Does not the cheer¬ 
ful man make a cheerful world ? Does not 
the sorrowing man make a gloomy world ? 
Does not every mind make its own world ? 
Does it not, as if indeed a portion of the 
Divinity were imparted to it, almost create 
the scene around it? Its power, in fact, 
scarcely falls short of the theory of those 
philosophers, who have supposed that the 
world had no existence at all, but in our 
own minds. 

So again with regard to human life ;—it 
seems to many, probably, unconscious as 
they are of the mental and moral powers 
which control it, as if it were made up of 
fixed conditions, and of immense and im¬ 
passable distinctions. But upon all condi¬ 
tions presses down one impartial law. To 
all situations, to all fortunes, high or low, 
the mind gives their character. They are 
in effect, not what they are in themselves, 
but what they are to the feelings of their 
possessors. 

The king upon his throne and amidst his 
court, may be a mean, degraded, miserable 
man ; a slave to ambition, to voluptuous¬ 
ness , to fear, to eveiy lozv passion . The peas¬ 
ant in his cottage, maybe the real monarch, 
—the moral master of his fate,—thefreeand 
lofty being, more than a prince in his hap¬ 
piness, more than a king in honor. And 
shall the mere names which these men bear, 
blind us to the actual position which they 
occupy amidst God’s creation ? No: be¬ 
neath the all-powerful law of the heart, the 


master is often the slave ,* and the slave is 
the master. 

It is the same creation, upon which the 
eyes of the cheerful and the melancholy man 
are fixed; yet how different are the aspects 
which it bears to them ! To the one it is all 
beauty and gladness; ‘ ‘ the waves of the 
ocean roll in light, and the mountains are 
covered with day.” It seems to him as if 
life went forth, rejoicing upon every bright 
wave, and every shining bough, shaken in 
the breeze. It seems as if there were more 
than the eye seeth; a presence of deep joy 
among the hills and the valleys, and upon 
the bright waters. 

But the gloomy man, stricken and sad at 
heart, stands idly or mournfully gazing at 
the same scene, and what is it to him ? The 
very light,— 

* Bright effluence of bright essence increate/’ 

yea, the very light seems to him as a leaden 
pall thrown over the face of nature. All 
things wear to his eye a dull, dim, and sickly 
aspect. The great train of the seasons is 
passing before him, but he sighs and turns 
away, as if it were the train of a funeral 
procession ; and he wonders within himself 
at the poetic representations and sentimen¬ 
tal rhapsodies that are lavished upon a 
world so utterly miserable. 

Here then, are two different worlds, in 
which these two classes of beings live ; and 
they are formed and made what they are, 
out of the very same scene, only by differ¬ 
ent states of mind in the beholders. The 
eye maketh that which it looks upon. The 
ear maketh its own melodies or discords. 
The world without reflects the world with¬ 
in. Orville Dewey. 


GOOD=NATURE. 

A practical reading on any occasion when it is desirable to 
admonish the audience. 

G ood-nature —what a blessing ! With¬ 
out it a man is like a wagon without 
springs, he has the full benefit of 
every stone and way-rut. Good-nature is 
the prime-minister of a good conscience. 
It tells of the genial spirit within, and 
good-nature never fails of a wholesome 
effect without. 



220 


RELIGIOUS , MORAL AND DIDACTIC 


Good-nature is not only the government 
of one’s own spirit, but it goes far in its 
effects upon those of others. It manifests 
itself on every street; it humanizes man ; 
it softens the friction of a business world. 
Good-nature is the harmonious act of con¬ 
science. Good-nature in practical affairs is 
better than any other; better than what 
men call justice; better than dignity ; better 
than standing on one’s rights, which is so 
often the narrowest and worst place to 
stand on one can find. 

A man who knows how to hold on to his 
temper is the man who is respected by the 
community. And one who has a good 
nature, successfully travels about as does 
he who goes upon the principle—little of 
baggage, but plenty of money! A man 
who is armed with hopefulness, cheerful¬ 
ness, and a genial spirit, is one who is 
going to be of practical and beneficent 
usefulness to his fellow-man. There are no 
things by which the troubles and difficulties 
of this life can be resisted better than with 
wit and humor. And let the happy person 
who possesses these—if he be brought into 
the folds of the church—not allow conver¬ 
sion to deprive him of them. God has 
constituted these in man, and especially 
when they are so salient in meeting good- 
naturedly the trials of this world, they 
should be used. Happiness, at last, is 
dependent upon a soul that has holy com¬ 
munion with its Creator—“ for in Him we 
have life eternal.” Men also fail in happi¬ 
ness because they refuse to read the great 
lessons found in the great book of nature. 
Happiness is to be sought in the possession 
of true manhood rather than in its internal 
conditions. 

Henry Ward Beecher. 


DON’T FRET. 

on’t fret if your neighbor earns more 
than you do. 

Don’t frown if he gets the most 
trade ; 


Don’t envy your friend if he rides in a 
coach, 

Don’t mind if you’re left in the shade. 

Don’t rail at the schoolboy who fails in his 
task, 

Nor envy the one who succeeds ; 

Don’t laugh at the man who is Poverty’s 
slave, 

Nor think the rich never have needs. 

It’s not wisdom to covet our neighbor’s 
good gifts ; 

We would seldom change places, I 
ween, 

If we knew all our neighbor’s affairs as our 
own, 

For things are not what they seem. 

You see the rich merchant enjoying his 
ride, 

And think he exults over you ; 

You do not imagine that he feels the same, 

And thinks you more blest of the two. 

You see people pass in and out of a store; 

But you must not judge business thereby, 

You must look at the books, at the way they 
“ foot up,” 

Ere you venture your judgment to try. 

You don’t know what you say when you 
envy a man 

Either fortune, or friends, or a home ; 

His fortune and friends may be only in 
name, 

And his home far less blest than your 
own. 

You may know the old adage, which teaches 
the fact, 

That a skeleton must be somewhere ; 

If not found in library, kitchen, or hall, 

It is hid in the closet with care. 

So don’t envy the blest, nor despise the 
outcast, 

Don’t judge by the things which you see • 

Make the burdens of men as light as you 
can, 

And the lighter your burden will be. 




Part VII. 

SELECTIONS ON PATRIOTISM 

AND WAR 


HIGHLAND WAR SONG. 

* A Pibroch (pronounced Pi’brok ) is a martial air played 
with the bagpipe. Donuil, pronounced Don nil. 

P ibroch* of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of 
Donuil, 

Wake thy wild voice anew, summon 
Clan-Conuil. 

Come away, come away, hark to the sum¬ 
mons ! 

Come in your war array, gentles and com¬ 
mons ! 

Come from deep glen, and from mountain so 
rocky, 

The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; 
Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that 
wears one, 

Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that 
bears one. 

Leave untended the herd, the flock without 
shelter; 

Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the 
altar; 

Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets 
and barges ; 

Come with your fighting gear, broadswords 
and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when forests are 
rended ; 

Come as the waves come, when navies are 
stranded ; 

Faster come, faster come, faster and faster, 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and 
master. 

Fast they come, fast they come; see how 
they gather! 

Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with 
heather, 

Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward 
each man set! 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset! 

Sir Walter Scott. 


THE WATCH BY THE RHINE. 

German National War Song—Translated by 
H. W. Ducklkn. 

cry bursts forth like thunder-sound, 
Like swords’ fierce clash, like waves 
rebound,— 

To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine ! 
To guard the river, who’ll combine ? 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

From myriad mouths the summons files, 
And brightly flash a myriad eyes; 

Brave, honest, true, the Germans come, 

To guard the sacred bounds of home. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be Aline,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

And though the strife bring death to me, 

No foreign river shalt thou be ; 

Exhaustless as thy watery flood 
Is German land in hero-blood. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine— 
Fast stands, and true, the w T atch by the 
Rhine. 

If upward he his glance doth send, 

There hero-fathers downward bend. 

He sweareth, proud to fight his part, 

Thou Rhine, be German, like my heart. 
Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

While yet one drop of blood thou’lt yield, 
While yet one hand the sword can wield, 
While grasps the rifle one bold hand, 

No foe shall tread thy sacred strand. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 



221 



222 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


The oath peals forth, the wave runs by, 
Our flags, unfurled, are waving high. 

To the Rhine, the Rhine, the German 
Rhine ! 

To keep thee free we’ll all combine. 

Dear Fatherland, good trust be thine,— 
Fast stands, and true, the watch by the 
Rhine. 

Max Schneckenburger. 


THE GERHAN’S FATHERLAND. 

HAT is the German’s fatherland?— 
Is’t Prussian land, or Swabian land ? 
Where the grape-vine glows on the 
Rhenish strand ? 

Where the sea-gull flies o’er the Baltic 
sand ? 

Ah, no ! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German’s fatherland ?— 
Bavarian land, or Styrian land ? 

Now Austria it needs must be. 

So rich in fame and victory. 

Ah, no l ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow*. 

What is the German’s fatherland ?—• 
Pomeranian land, Westphalia land ? 

Where o’er the sea-flats the sand is blown? 
Where the mighty Danube rushes on ? 

Ah, no! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German’s fatherland ?— 

Say thou the name of the mighty land. 

Is’t Switzerland, or Tyrol, tell:— 

The land and the people pleased me well. 
Ah, no ! ah, no ! 

His fatherland must greater be, I trow. 

What is the German’s fatherland ?— 

Name thou at length to me the land. 
Wherever in the German tongue 
To God in heaven hymns are sung !— 

That shall it be,—that shall it be ; 

That, gallant German, is for thee ! 

That is the German’s fatherland 
Where binds like an oath the grasped hand, 
Where from men’s eyes truth flashes forth, 
Where in men’s hearts are love and worth!— 
That shall it be,—that shall it be ; 

That, gallant German, is for thee 1 


It is the whole of Germany. 

Look, Lord, thereon, we pray to Thee. 
Let German spirit in us dwell, 

That we may love it true and well. 

That shall it be,—that shall it be ; 

The whole, the whole of Germany ! 

Ernst Moritz Arndt. 


GERMAN BATTLE PRAYER. 

ather, I cry to Thee. 

Cannon-smoke rolleth in clouds 
o’er me roaring, 

War’s jetted lightnings around me are 
pouring ; 

Lord of the battle, I cry to Thee. 

Father, oh, lead Thou me. 

Father, oh, lead Thou me, 

Lead me as victor, by death when I’m 
riven, 

Lord, I acknowledge the law Thou hast 
given ; 

E’en as Thou wilt, Lord, so lead Thou 
me,— 

God, I acknowledge Thee. 

God, I acknowledge Thee. 

So when the autumn leaves rustle around me, 
So when the thunders of battle surround me, 
Fountain of grace, I acknowledge Thee,— 
Father, oh, bless Thou me. 

Father, oh, bless Thou me. 

Into Thy care commend I my spirit; 

Thou canst reclaim what from Thee I 
inherit; 

Living or dying, still bless Thou me,-— 
Father, I worship Thee. 

Father, I worship Thee. 

Not for earth’s riches Thy servants are 
fighting, . 

Holiest cause with our swords we are 
righting; 

Conquering or falling, I worship Thee— 
God, I submit to Thee. 

God, I submit to Thee. 

When all the terrors of death are assailing, 
When in my veins e’en the life-blood is 
failing, 

Lord, unto Thee will I bow the knee,—- 
Father, I cry to Thee. 

Kari, Theodor Korner. 







PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


223 


THE LOVE OF COUNTRY 

The love of country is inherent in the heart of normal man; and 
there is no surer sign of a vicious character than the absence of 
love of one’s native land.- This is not-a selfish love, but like the 
love of a child for its parent—God-given, ennobling and blessing 
its possessor and mankind. 

TDreathes there a man with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

“ This is my own, my native land ? 
Whose heart has ne’er within him burned, 
As home his footsteps he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign shore ? 

If such there breathe, go, mark him well 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ! 

High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 

The wretch, concentred all is self 
Diving, shall forfeit fair renown, 

And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 

Sir Waeter Scott. 


AMERICA AN AGGREGATE OF NATIONS. 

iant aggregate of nations, glorious 
whole, of glorious parts, 

Unto endless generations live united, 
hands and hearts! 

Be it storm or summer weather, peaceful 
calm or battle jar, 

Stand in beauteous strength together, sister 
States, as now ye are! 

Every petty class-dissension, heal it up as 
quick as thought; 

Every paltry place-pretension, crush it as a 
thing of naught; 

Let no narrow private treason your great 
onward progress bar, 

But remain, in right and reason, sister 
States, as now ye are! 

Fling away absurd ambition ! people, leave 
that toy to kings; 

Envy, jealousy, suspicion,—be above such 
grovelling things: 

In each other’s joys delighted, all your hate 
be—joys of war, 

And by all means keep united, sister States, 

as now ye are! 


Were I but some scornful stranger, still my 
counsel would be just; 

Break the band and all is danger, mutual 
fear and dark distrust; 

But you know me for a brother, and a friend 
who speaks from far, 

Be as one, then, with each other, sister 
States, as now ye are! 

If it seems a thing unholy, freedom’s soil 
by slaves to till, 

Yet be just! and sagely, slowly, nobly cure 
that ancient 111: 

Slowly,—haste is fatal ever; nobly,—lest 
good faith ye mar; 

Sagely,—not in wrath, to sever, sister 
States, as now ye are ! 

Charmed with your commingled beauty, 
England sends the signal round, 

‘ ‘ Every man must do his duty ’ ’ to redeem 
from bonds the bound ! 

Then, indeed, your banner’s brightness, 
shining clear from every star, 

Shall proclaim your uprightness, sister 
States, as now ye are ! 

So a peerless constellation may those stars 
forever blaze! 

Three-and-ten times threefold nation, go 
ahead in power and praise ! 

Like the many-breasted goddess, throned 
on her Ephesian car, 

Be—one heart, in many bodies ! sister 
States, as now ye are ! 

Martin Farquhar Tupper. 


THE AMERICAN UNION A GEOGRAPHICAL 

NECESSITY. 

Extract from Address at Randolph Macon College. Virginia 
at Commencement, 1854. 

T he name “ American,’ 1 itself, is suffi¬ 
cient to inspire within the bosom of 
every one, who so proudly claims it, 
a holy zeal to preserve forever the endearing 
epithet. This Union must and will be pre¬ 
served ! Division is impossible ! Mind has 
never conceived of the man equal to the 
task! Geographical lines can never sepa¬ 
rate the interests of the American people, 
can never dissever the ties which unite 
them. Each claims the beautiful lakes and 
flourishing cities of the North. Each claims 







224 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


the extended prairies of the West and the 
rich productions of the sunny South. Each 
claims Massachusetts’ patriot. Each claims 
Kentucky’s sage. Who has not an inherit¬ 
ance in the ashes of Vernon’s tomb ? New 
England as loudly and affectionately pro¬ 
claims him Father of his country, as does 
Virginia. New England never will relin¬ 
quish her claim ; Virginia, never, never suf¬ 
fer those ashes to be touched ! 

The Divine Architect of Nature, Himself, 
has said in His lofty mountains and majes¬ 
tic rivers, “Be united!” Observe their 
ranges and courses. The Blue Ridge, the 
Alleghany, and the Rocky Mountains all 
run north and south ; the great .Mississippi 
with her vast tributaries, parallel with 
them, waters the whole extent. There 
must be design in all this. The ancient 
poets and philosophers pictured a far-off 
land, across the waters, a fairer abode, a 
land of equal rights and a happy people. 
This, surely, is that land ; and through this 
people the Supreme Legislators has decreed 
that the true principles of government shall 
be taught all mankind. And as the blue 
arch, above, is in beauty shown us, so 
surely will it span the mightiest domain 
that ever shook earth. 

As surely as art and labor are now 
adorning, and science exalting, a land 
which religion has sanctified and patriot¬ 
ism redeemed, so surely will the Goddess 
of Liberty yet walk abroad in the gardens 
of Europe, and to our country shall belong 
all the honor. Then, no longer will be 
obscure our resplendent and glorious Con¬ 
stitution ! No more will our bright escut¬ 
cheon be tarnished ! No more will our 
banner droop ; but, in his original strength 
and pride, the American eagle, pluming 
himself for loftier flights and brighter 
climes, shall, fearlessly, while gazing on 
the beauties and splendors of his country’s 
flag, shriek the downfall of tyranny; and 
the longest, loudest, proudest shout of 
freedom’s sons, in honor of freedom’s 
triumph, shall be,— 

The star.spangled banner In triumph shall wave 

O'vr the land of the free and the home of the brave !'* 

Alexander Hogo. 


UNION LINKED WITH LIBERTY. 

From Inaugural Address 1833. 

W ithout union, our independence and 
liberty would never have been 
achieved; without union they can 
never be maintained. 

The time at which I stand before you is 
full of interest. The eyes of all nations are 
fixed on our republic. The event of the 
existing crisis will be decisive, in the opin¬ 
ion of mankind, of the practicability of our 
federal system of government. Great is the 
stake placed in our hands; great is the 
responsibility which must rest upon the 
people of the United States. Let us realize 
the importance of the attitude in which we 
stand before the world. Let us exercise for¬ 
bearance and firmness. Let us extricate our 
country from the dangers which surround 
it, and learn wisdom from the lessons they 
inculcate. Deeply impressed with the truth 
of these observations, and under the obliga¬ 
tion of that solemn oath which I am about 
to take, I shall continue to exert all my 
faculties to maintain the just powers of the 
Constitution, and to transmit unimpaired 
to posterity the blessings of our Federal 
Union. 

At the same time, it will be my aim to 
inculcate, by my official acts, the necessity 
of exercising, by the General Government, 
those powers only that are clearly delegated ; 
to encourage simplicity and economy in the 
expenditures of the Government; to ra^’se 
no more money from the people than may 
be requisite for these objects, and in a man¬ 
ner that will best promote the interests of 
all classes of the community, and of all por¬ 
tions of the Union. Constantly bearing in 
mind that, in entering into society, indivi¬ 
duals must give up a share of liberty to pre¬ 
serve the rest, it wall be my desire so to 
discharge my duties as to foster with our 
brethren, in all parts of the country, a spirit 
of liberal concession and compromise ; and 
by reconciling our fellow-citizens to those 
partial sacrifices which they must unavoid¬ 
ably make, for the preservation of a greater 
good, to recommend our invaluable Govern¬ 
ment and Union to the confidence and affec¬ 
tions of the American people. Finally, it 
is my most fervent prayer to that Almighty 
Being before whom now I stand, and who 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


has kept us in his hands from the infancy 
of our republic to the present day, that He 
will so overrule all my intentions and 
actions, and inspire the hearts of my fellow- 
citizens, that we may be preserved from 
dangers of all kinds and continue forever a 
united and happy people. 

Andrew Jackson. 


LIBERTY AND UNION ONE AND INSEPA¬ 
RABLE. 

PROFESS, sir, in my career hitherto, to 
have kept steadily in view the prosper¬ 
ity and honor of the whole country, 
and the preservation of our Federal Union. 
It is to that Union that we owe our safety 
at home, and our consideration and dignity 
abroad. It is to that Union that we are 
chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most 
proud of our country. That Union we 
reached only by the discipline of our virtues, 
in the severe school of adversity. It had its 
origin in the necessities of disordered 
finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined 
credit. Under its benign influences these 
great interests immediately awoke, as from 
the dead, and sprang forth with newness of 
life. Every year of its duration has teemed 
with fresh proofs of its utility and its bless¬ 
ings ; and, although our territory has 
stretched out wider and wider, and our 
population spread farther and farther, they 
have not outrun its protection or its bene¬ 
fits. It has been to us a copious foun¬ 
tain, of national, social, and personal hap¬ 
piness. I have not allowed myself, sir, to 
look beyond the Union, to see what might 
lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I 
have not coolly weighed the chances of 
preserving liberty, when the bonds that 
unite us together shall be broken asunder. 
I have not accustomed myself to hang over 
the precipice of disunion, to see whether, 
with my short short sight, I can fathom the 
depth of the abyss below ; nor could I 
regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs 
of this government, whose thoughts should 
be mainly bent on considering, not how the 
Union may be best preserved, but how tol¬ 
erable might be the condition of the people 
when it should be broken up and destroyed. 

While the Union lasts, we have high, 

15 H 


225 

exciting, gratifying prospects spread out 
before us, for us and our children. Beyond 
that I seek not to penetrate the veil. God 
grant that in my day, at least, that curtain 
may not rise ! God grant that on my vision 
never may be opened what lies behind! 
When my eyes shall be turned to behold, 
for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I 
not see him shining on the broken and dis¬ 
honored fragments of a once glorious Union; 
on States dissevered, discordant, belliger¬ 
ent ; on a land rent with civil feuds, or 
drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! 

Let their last feeble and lingering glance 
rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the 
republic, now known and honored through¬ 
out the earth, still full high advanced, 
its arms and trophies streaming in their 
original lustre, not a stripe erased or pol¬ 
luted, not a single star obscured ; bearing 
for its motto no such miserable interroga¬ 
tory as, What is all this worth f nor those 
other words of delusion and folly,— Liberty 
first and Union afterwards; but everywhere, 
spread all over in characters of living light, 
blazing on all its ample folds as they float 
over the sea and over the land, and in every 
wind under the whole heavens, that other 
sentiment, dear to every true American 
heart,— -Liberty and Union, now and for- 
ever , one and inseparable ! 

Daniel Webster. 


THE BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 

Sung to the tune of “ John Brown''s Body.” 

ine eyes have seen the glory of the 
coming of the Lord ; 

He is trampling out the vintage 
where the grapes of wrath are 
stored; 

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of his 
terrible swift sword: 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a 
hundred circling camps; 

They have builded him an altar in the 
evening dews and damps ; 

I can read his righteous sentence by the 
dim and flaring lamps : 

His day is marching on. 






226 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burnished 
rows of steel: 

“As ye deal with my contemners, so with 
you my grace shall deal; 

Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the 
serpent with his heel, 

Since God is marching on.” 

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall 
never call retreat; 

He is sifting out the hearts of men before 
his judgment-seat; 

Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him ! be 
jubilant, my feet ! 

Our God is marching on. 

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born 
across the sea, 

With a glory in his bosom that transfigures 
you and me; 

As he died to make men holy, let us die to 
make men free, 

While God is marching on. 

Julia Ward Howl. 


MARSEILLES HYMN. 

The French National Hymn. 

E sons of France, awake to glory. 

Hark, hark, what myriads bid 
rise! 

Your children, wives, and grandsires 
hoary,— 

Behold their tears and hear their cries. 
Shall hateful tyrants mischiefs breeding, 
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, 
Affright and desolate the land, 

While peace and liberty lie bleeding ? 

Chorus. 

To arms, to arms, ye brave ! 

Th’ avenging sword unsheathe ! 

March on, march on, all hearts resolved 
On victory or death ! 

Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling 
Which treacherous kings confederate 
. raise; 

The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 
And lo, our walls and cities blaze. 

And shall we basely view the ruin, 

While lawless force, with guilty stride, 
Spreads desolation far and wide, 

With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ? 

Chorus. 


With luxury and pride surrounded, 

The vile, insatiate despots dare, 

Their thirst of gold and power unbounded. 
To mete and vend the light and air. 

Like beasts of burden would they load us, 
Like gods, would bid their slaves adore; 
But man is man, and who is more ? 

Then, shall they longer lash and goad us ? 

Chorus. 

O Liberty, can man resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous flame ? 

Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee ? 

Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? 

Too long the world has wept, bewailing 
That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield,— 
But freedom is our sword and shield, 

And all their arts are unavailing. 

Chorus. 

Rougbt de Lisle., 


THE SPANISH PATRIOTS’ SONG. 

• 

ark ! hear ye tne sounds that the 
winds, on their pinions, 
Exultiugly roll from the shore to 
the sea, 

With a voice that resounds through her 
boundless dominions ? 

’Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be 
free! 

Behold, on yon summits, where Heaven 
has throned her, 

How she starts from her proud, innacces- 
sible seat, 

With nature’s impregnable ramparts around 
her, 

And the cataract’s thunder and foam at 
her feet! 

In the breeze of her mountains her loose 
locks are shaken, 

While the soul-stirring notes of her 
warrior-song, 

From the rock to the valley, re-echo, 
“Awaken! 

Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered 
too long!” 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


227 


GOD SAVE THE KING. 

The national anthem of Great Britain has become so closely 
identified -with the hymn “America” that they seem insepar¬ 
able,—the music being common to both. Neither Henry nor 
George S. Carey can be credited, clearly, with its origin. George 
S. Carey claimed that his father was the author. The following 
words by Rev. W. D. Tattersall, harmonized by T. S. Dupuis, 
Doctor of Music, were used in London in January, 1793, three 
of the verses being nearly the same as those used about the year 
J745, in the reign of George II. 

Version of 1793. 

od save great George our King, 
Long live our noble King, 

God save the King, 

Send him victorious, 

Happy and glorious, 

Long to reign over us, 

God save the King ! 

Let discord’s lawless train 
Know their vile arts are vain, 

Britain is free; 

Confound their politics, 

Frustrate their knavish tricks. 

With equal laws we mix 
True liberty. 

England’s stanch soldiery, 

Proof against treachery, 

Bravely unite; 

Firm in his country’s cause, 

His sword each hero draws, 

To guard our King and law's 
From factious might. 

When insults rise to wars, 

Oak-hearted British tars 
Scorn to be slaves ; 

Panged in our wooden avails, 

Ready when duty calls 
To send their cannon-balls 
O’er Ocean’s waves. 

O Lord our God, arise, 

Scatter our enemies, 

And make them fall. 

Cause civil broils to cease, 

Commerce and trade t’ increase*, 

With plenty, joy, and peace, 

God bless us all. 

Gracious to this famed isle, 

On our loved Monarch smile, 

With mildest rays; 

Oh, let thy light divine 
On Brunswick’s royal line 
With cheering influence shine 
To latest days. 


GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. 

Present Version. 

G od save our gracious Queen, 
Long live our noble Queeai* 
God save the Queen 1 
Send her victorious, 

Happy and glorious, 

Long to reign over us ! 

God save the Queen 1 

O Lord our God, arise, 

Scatter her enemies, 

And make them fall. 

Confound their politics, 

Frustrate their knavish tricks, 

On Thee our hopes we fix, 

Oh, save us all. 

Thy choicest gifts in store 
On her be pleased to pour. 

Long may she reign! 

May she defend our laws, 

And ever give us cause 
To sing w T ith heart and voice, 

God save the Queen! 


fHE “ RECESSIONAL.’* 

G od of our fathers, known of old— 

Lord of our far-flung battle-line— 
Beneath Whose awful Pland we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine— 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

The tumult and the shouting dies— 

The captains and the kings depart-— 

Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice, 

An humble and a contrite heart. 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

Far-called our navies melt away— 

On dune and headland sinks the fire— 

Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre ! 

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet. 
Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe— 
Such boasting as the Gentiles use 




228 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


Or lesser breeds without the law— 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget—lest we forget! 

For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard— 

All valiant dust that builds on dust, 

And guarding calls not Thee to guard— 
For frantic boast and foolish word, 
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord ! 
Amen. 

Rudyard Kipling. 


MARCHING TO CUBA. 

Melody of “Marching through Georgia.” 

This selection may be used as a recitation without the chorus. 
This may be made quite a pleasing feature of an entertain¬ 
ment if boys be dressed in Cuban war uniforms and march back 
and forth on the stage singing the words to the tune of “ March¬ 
ing through Georgia." 

W E’RE going down to Cuba, boys, to 
battle for the right. 

We’re going to show those Spaniards 
that we Yankee boys can fight, 

And when the^ see us coming they’ll 
scatter left and right, 

When we march into Cuba. 

Chorus. 

Hurrah, hurrah, we’ll sound the jubilee, 
Hurrah, hurrah, boys, Cuba shall be 
free ; 

And so we’ll sing the chorus, from 
Mt. Gretna to the sea, 

While we are marching to Cuba. 

'Twas in Manila Bay, boys, our ships the 
foe did meet, 

We didn’t need a hurricane to wreck 
the Spanish fleet, 

But just one Dewey morning and our 
vict’ry was complete, 

As we were marching to Cuba.— Chorus. 

In Santiago harbor Sampson has them 
bottled tight. 

Hobson put the cork in, and we think 
he did it right: 

And when they find they can’t get out 
they’ll have to stand and fight, 

When we march into Cuba.— Chorus. 


With Dewey, Schley and Sampson we 
need not have a fear, 

For they will guard the harbors while 
we attack the rear ; 

We’ll plant our flag on Morro, and give 
one mighty cheer, 

When we march into Cuba.— Choriis. 

W. Gilbert Kayser. 


THE “ MAINE ” RED, WHITE AND BLUE. 

Air — “Red, White and Blue.” 

ET us honor the dead of our nation, 
the sailors so brave and so true ; 
The lads who now sleep in the ocean, 
who died for the red, white and blue. 
The battleship “Maine” is their casket, 
their souls are with God in review, 

And widows and orphans are mourning 
the loss to the red, white and blue. 

Chorus. 

Three cheers for the red, white and blue ! 
Three cheers for the sailor boys true ! 

Three cheers for our loyal White Squad¬ 
ron, 

And three for the red, white and blue ! 

The ironclad “Maine” at Havana, like a 
monarch of absolute rule, 

Undreaming of woe or disaster, undream¬ 
ing of knave or of tool, 

Lay at rest and at peace in the harbor, the 
stars watching o’er her brave crew, 
When death and destruction o’ertook her, 
and sullied the red, white and blue. 

Chorus. 

Then honor the dead of her crew, 

Then honor the living so true ; 

Then honor the loyal White Squadron, 
And cheer for the red, white and blue ! 

If treachery’s hand held the missile that 
shattered our noble ship “ Maine,” 
America’s grieved population will discover 
it, even in Spain ; 

And the God of our Fathers in justice to 
the cause of the brave and the true, 
Will guide us in wiping dishonor from our 
beautiful red, white and blue. 

Joseph Kerr. 





PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


22 y 


REVEILLE. 

The effect of the following recitation will be greatly enhanced 
if the speaker dress in soldier uniform and carry a rifle as if on 
sentinel duty, and the words in italics be spoken to the accom¬ 
paniment of a bugle or cornet sounding the notes softly behind 
a curtain or in adjoining room. 

T he morning is cheery my boys, arouse ! 
The dew shines bright on the chestnut 
boughs, 

And the sleepy mist on the river lies, 
Though the east is flushing with crimson 
dyes. 

Awake! awake! awake! 

O’er field and wood and brake, 

With glories newly born, 

Comes on the blushing morn, 

Awake ! awake ! 

You have dreamed of your homes and your 
friends all night ; 

You have basked in your sweethearts’ smiles 
so bright: 

Come, part with them all for a while again— 
Be lovers in dreams ; when awake, be men. 
Turn out! turn out! turn out! 

You have dreamed full long I know, 
Turn out! turn out ! turn out ! 

The east is all aglow. 

Turn out ! turn out! 

From every valley and hill there come 
The clamoring voices of fife and drum ; 
And out on the fresh, cool morning air 
The soldiers are swarming everywhere. 

Fall in ! fall in ! fall in ! 

Every man in his place. 

Fall in ! fall in ! fall in ! v 
Each with a cheerful face. 

Fall in ! fall in ! 

Michael O’Connor. 


DIRGE OF THE DRUMS. 

In pronouncing these words imitate in deep measured tones 
the sound of the drum-beat. 

D ead ! Dead ! Dead, dead, dead ! 

To the solemn beat of the last retreat 
That falls like lead, 

Bear the hero now to his honored rest 
With the badge of courage upon his breast, 
While the sun sinks down in the gleaming 
West- 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 


Dead ! Dead ! Mour , the dead ! 

While the mournful r x>tes of the bugles 
float 

Across his bed, 

And the guns shall toil on the vibrant air 
The knell of the vic-'or lying there— 

’Tis a fitting sound ior a soldier’s prayer—• 
Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead, dead, dead ! 

To the muffled beat of the lone retreat 
And speeding lead, 

Lay the hero low to his well-earned rest, 

In the land he loved, on her mother breast, 
While the sunlight dies in the darkening 
West- 

Dead ! Dead ! Dead ! 

Ralph Alton. 


A MOTHER’S LAMENT. 

Suitable for Decoration Day entertainment. If the reciter 
be dressed in the garb of a bereaved mother the effect will be 
better. 

“ In Rama was there a voice heard, 

Rachel weeping for her children.” 

I am but one of the many—the mothers 
who weep and who mourn. 

For the dear sons slain in the battle! 
Oh ! burden of sorrow borne 
At the thought of their needed comforts, 
their hardships along the way ! 

But we prayed to Thee, loving Father, to 
sustain them day by day ; 

Now our hearts are dumb in our anguish, 
and our lips refuse to pray. 

They are slain in the cruel battle, the 
pitiless chance of war ! 

From the homes that they were the light 
of, from those that they loved afar, 
With no mother-kisses to soothe them, no 
ministry of loving hand ! 

But ’tis well with them, now and forever, 
for they live in the “ better land,” 
Where Thy peace shall abide forever, and 
never an armed band. 

For they were Thy heroes, dear Father; 

they fell as Thy heroes fall, 

And loyal, and true, and undaunted, they 
answered their country’s call; 

They laid their young lives on her altar, 
for her will their blood was shed; 




23 ° 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


And now there is naught that can comfort 
the mothers whose hearts have bled 
For the sons who went to the battle, by 
the chance of the battle dead. 

O ! God, Thou hast tender pity, and love 
for the broken in heart, 

But not even Thou can’st comfort, for there 
is no comfort apart 

From the son who went out from my cling¬ 
ing : O God, I cry to Thee ! 

I grope in the darkness to clasp him—that 
darkness that hides from me 
The sight of Thy hand, dear Father! 
though outstretched to comfor it be. 

Isidor D. French. 


5AUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. 

arriors and chiefs ! should the shaft 
or the sword 

Pierce me in leading the hosts of 
the Lord, 

Heed not the corse, though a king’s, in 
your path : 

Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 

Should the soldiers of Saul look away from 
the foe, 

Stretch me that moment in blood at thy 
feet! 

Mine be the doom, which they dared not to 
meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part, 

Heir to my royalty, son of my heart! 

Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway, 

Or kingly the death, which awaits us 
to-day! 

Byron. 


WASHINGTON TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

An address delivered by the father of his country to his army 
before they began the battle of Long Island, 1776. 

he time is now near at hand which must 
probably determine whether Ameri¬ 
cans are to be freemen or slaves; 
whether they are to have any property they 
can call their own ; whether their houses 
and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, 
and themselves consigned to a state of 
wretchedness from which no human efforts 


will deliver them. The fate of unborn mill¬ 
ions will now depend, under God, on the 
courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel 
and unrelenting enemy leaves us only the 
choice of a brave resistance, or the most 
abject submission. We have, therefore, to 
resolve to conquer or to die. 

Our own, our country’s honor, calls upon 
us for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and 
if we now shamefully fail, we shall become 
infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, 
rely on the goodness of our cause, and the 
aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands 
victory is, to animate and encourage us to 
great and ncble actions. The eyes of all our 
countrymen are now upon us ; and we shall 
have their blessings and praises, if happily 
we are the instruments of saving them from 
the tyranny meditated against them. Let 
us, therefore, animate and encourage each 
other, and show the whole world that a free¬ 
man contending for liberty on his own 
ground is superior to any slavish mercenary 
on earth. 

Liberty, property, life and honor, are all 
at stake. Upon your courage and conduct 
rest the hopes of our bleeding and insulted 
country. Our wives, children and parents, 
expect safety from us only ; and they have 
every reason to believe that Heaven will 
crown with success so just a cause. The 
enemy wiil endeavor to intimidate by show 
and appearance; butrememberthey have been 
repulsed on various occasions by a few brave 
Americans. Their cause is bad,—their men 
are conscious of it; and, if opposed with 
firmness and coolness on their first onset, 
with our advantage of works, and knowl¬ 
edge of the ground, the victory is most 
assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be 
silent and attentive, wait for orders, and 
reserve his fire until he is sure of doing exe¬ 
cution. 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 

To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who 
bled, 

To the day and the deed, strike the harp- 
strings of glory! ' 

Let the song of the ransomed remember the 
dead, 

And the tongue of the eloquent hallow 
the story ! 







PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


231 


O’er the bones of the bold 
Be that story long told, 

And on fame’s golden tablets their tri¬ 
umphs enrolled, 

Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s 
banner unfurled, 

And the beacon fire raised that gave light to 
the world! 

They are gone—mighty men !—and they 
sleep in their fame ; 

Shall we ever forget them ? O, never! 
no, never! 

Let our sons learn from us to embalm each 
great name, 

And the anthem send down,—“ Inde¬ 
pendence forever! ” 

Wake, wake, heart and tongue ? 
Keep the theme ever young ; 

Let their deeds through the long line of 
ages be sung, 

Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s 
banner unfurled, 

And the beacon-fire raised that gave light 
to the world! 

CHARLES SPRAGUE 


THE HERO OF THE COMMUNE. 

The hero of this poem became the greatest general in Napol¬ 
eon’s army. 

i i /~A arcon ! You, you 

YX Snared along with this cursed 
” crew ? 

(Only a child, and yet so bold, 
Scarcely as much as ten years old !) 
Do you hear ? do you know 
Why the gens d'armes put you there, in tne 
row, 

You with those Commune wretches tall, 
With your face to the wall ? 

“ Know f To be sure I know ! Why not ? 

We’re here to be shot; 

And there by the pillar’s the very spot, 

Fighting for France, my father fell. 
Ah, well !— 

That’s just the way I would choose to fall, 
With my back to the wall! ’ ’ 

“ (Sacre ! Fair, open fight I say, 

Is something right gallant in its way, 

And fine for warming the blood; but 
who 


Wants wolfish work like this to do ? 
Bah ! ’tis a butcher’s business !) How f 
(The boy is beckoning to me now : 

I knew that this poor child’s heart 
would fail, 

.Yet his cheek’s not pale :) 

Quick ! say your say, for don’t you see 
When the church-clock yonder tolls out 
Three, 

You are all to be shot ? 

— What ? 

1 Excuse you one moment f* O, ho, ho ! 

Do you think to fool a gen d'armes so ? ” 

“ But, sir, here’s a watch that a friend, one 
day, 

(My father’s friend) just over the way, 

Lent me ; and if you let me free— 

It still lacks seven minutes of Three — 

I’ll come on the word of a soldier’s son, 
Straight back into line, when my errand’s 
done.” 

“ Ha, ha ! No doubt of it! Off! Begone ! 
(Now, good St. Dennis, speed him on ! 

The work will be easier since he's saved ; 
For I hardly see how I could have braved 
The ardor of that innocent eye, 

As he stood and heard. 

While I gave the word, 

Dooming him like a dog to die.) ” 

“ In time ? Well, thanks, that my desire 
Was granted ; and now I’m ready ;—Fire 
One word !—that’s all! 

—You’ll let me turn my back to the wall ? ” 

“ Parbleu ! Come out of the line, I say, 
Come out! (Who said that his name was 
Ney ?) 

Ha! France will hear of him yet, one 
day ! ” 

Margaret J. Preston. 


HEN ALWAYS FIT FOR FREEDOM. 

HERE is only one cure for the evils which 
newly-acquired freedom produces,— 
and that cure is freedom ! When a pris¬ 
oner leaves his cell, he cannot bear the light 
of day ; he is unable to discriminate colors, 
or recognize faces ; but the remedy is not to 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


232 

remand him into his dungeon, but to accus¬ 
tom him to the rays of the sun. The blaze 
of truth and liberty may at first dazzle and 
bewilder nations which have become half 
blind in the house of bondage ; but let them 
gaze on, and they will soon be able to bear 
it. In a few years men learn to reason ; the 
extreme violence of opinion subsides ; hos¬ 
tile theories correct each other ; the scat¬ 
tered elements of truth cease to conflict, and 
begin to coalesce ; and, at length, a system 
of justice and order is educed out of the 
chaos. Many politicians of our time are in 
the habit of laying it down as a self-evident 
proposition, that no people ought to be free 
till they are fit to use their freedom. The 
maxim is worthy of the fool in the old 
story, who resolved not to go into the water 
till he had learned to swim ! If men are to 
wait for tiberty till they become wise and 
good in slavery they may, indeed, wait for¬ 
ever ! T. B. Macauly. 


NAPOLEON’S FAREWELL TO HIS ARMY 
AT FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814. 

oldiers ! receive my adieu. During 
twenty years that we have lived 
together, I am satisfied with you. I 
have always found you in the paths of 
glory. All the powers of Europe have 
armed against me. Some of my generals 
have betrayed their trust and France. My 
country herself has wished another destiny: 
with you, and the other brave men who 
have remained true to ine,T could have 
maintained a civil war : but France would 
have been unhappy. 

Be faithful to your new king. Be sub¬ 
missive to your new generals ; and do not 
abandon our dear country. Mourn not 
my fortunes. I shall be happy while I am 
sure of your happiness. I might have 
died ; but if I have consented to live, it is 
still to serve your glory; I shall record 
now the great deeds which we have done 
together. 

Bring me the eagle standard ; let me 
pressit to my heart. Farewell, mychildren, 
my hearty wishes go with you. Preserve 
me in your memories. 

Napoleon Bonaparte. 


INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. 

ou know we French stormed Ratisbon : 
A mile or so away, 

On a little mound, Napoleon 
Stood on our storming-day ; 

With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms locked behind, 

As if to balance the prone brow, 
Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mused, “ My plans 
That soar, to earth may fall, 

Eet once my army-leader Lannes 
Waver at yonder wall ’ ’— 

Out ’twixt the battery-smokes there flew 
A rider, bound on bound 
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 
Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse’s mane, a boy : 

You hardly could suspect 
(So tight he kept his lips compressed, 
Scarce any blood came through), 

You looked twice ere you saw his breast 
Was all but shot in two. 

“Well,” cried he, “Emperor, by God’s 
grace, 

We’ve got you Ratsibon ! 

The marshal’s in the market place, 

And you’ll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 
Where I, to heart’s desire, 

Perched him ! ” The chief’s eye flashed ; 
his plans 

Soared up again like fire. 

The chief’s eye flashed ; but presently 
Softened itself, as sheathes 
A film the mother eagle’s eye 

When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
“You’re wounded ! ” “ Nay,” his soldier’s 
pride 

Touched to the quick, he said : 

“ I’m killed, sire ! ” And, his chief beside, 
Smiling, the boy fell dead. 

Robert Browning. 





PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA’S RIDE. 

Should be spoken with rapidity. The speaker in excited 
manner indicates by gesture and attitude the flight of the Queen. 
The circumstance in history may be referred to by the speaker 
before reciting the poem as follows: The Queen of Prussia was 
present when her army was routed by Napoleon at the Battle of 
Jena, 1807. She was mounted on a superb charger attended by 
three or four escorts, when a band of hussars seeing her, rushed 
forward to capture the royal lady, pursuing her all the way to 
Weimar. Had not the charger which she rode possessed a fleet¬ 
ness unequalled by any in the pursuing band, the fair Queen 
would have been made a prisoner. 

F air Queen, away! To thy charger 
speak— 

A band of hussars they capture seek. 
Oh, haste l escape! they are riding this 
way. 

Speak—speak to thy charger without delay; 
They’re nigh. 

Behold ! They come at a break-neck pace, 
A smile triumphant illumes each face. 
Queen ot the Prussians, now for a race, 

To Weimar for safety—fly l 

She turned, and her steed with a furious 
dash— 

Over the fields like the lightning’s flash— 
fled. 

Away, like an arrow from steel cross-bow, 
Over hill and dale in the sun’s fierce glow, 
The Queen and her enemies thundering go, 
On toward Weimar they sped. 

The royal courser is swift and brave, 

And his royal rider he strives to save—- 
But no ! 

“ Vive Vempereur /” rings sharp and clear; 
She turns and is startled to see them so 
near, 

Then softly speaks in her charger's ear 
And away he bounds like a roe. 

He speeds as though on the wings of the 
wind, 

The Queen’s pursuers are left behind. 

No more 

She fears, though each trooper grasps his 
reins, 

Stands up in his .stirrups, strikes spurs and 
strains, 

For ride as they may, her steed still gains 
And Weimar is just before. 

Safe ! The clatter now fainter grows ; 

She sees in the distance her laboring foes, 
The gates of the fortress stand open wide 
To welcome the German nation’s bride so 
dear. 


2 33 

With gallop and dash, into Weimar she 
goes, 

And the gates at once on her enemies close. 
Give thanks, give thanks ! She is safe with 
those 

Who hail her with cheer on cheer ! 

A. L,. A. Smith 


MARCO BOZZARIS. 

This poem has been pronounced the best martial lyric in th* 
language. Marco Bozzaris (pronounced Bot-zah-ri) fell in h*' 
attack upon the Turkish camp at Lapsi, August 20, 1823, an 
expired in the moment of victory. Kitz-Green HalleCk, tha 
author of this famous poem, is an American. 

A T midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the 
hour 

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
Should tremble at his power : 

In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams, his song of triumph heard ; 
Then wore his monarch’s signet ring : 

Then pressed that monarch’s throne—a 
king; 

As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 

As Eden’s garden bird. 

At midnight, in the forest shades, 

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, 

True as the steel of their tried blades, 
Heroes in heart and hand. 

There had the Persian’s thousands stood, 
There had the glad earth drunk their blood 
On old Platsea’s day ; 

And now there breathed that haunted air 
The sons of sires who conquered there, 

With arm to strike, and soul to dare, 

As quick, as far as they. 

A 11 hour passed on—the Turk awoke ; 

That bright dream was his last; 

He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 

‘ ‘ To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the 
Greek!” 

He woke—to die midst flame, and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 
And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 
Bozzaris cheer his band : 

‘ ‘ Strike—till the last armed foe expires ; 
Strike—for your altars and your fires ; 

Strike—for the green graves of your sires; 
God, and your native land ! ” 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


2 3 -* 

They fought,—like brave men, long and 
well; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain; 
They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, 
Bleeding at every vein. 

Kis few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rang their proud hurrah, 
And the red field was won : 

Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly, as to a night’s repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Bozzaris ! with the storied brave, 

Greece nurtured in her glory’s time, 

Rest thee—there is no prouder grave, 

Even in her own proud clime. 

She wore no funeral' weeds for thee, 

Nor bade the dark hearse wave its plume, 
Like torn branch from death’s leafless tree, 
In sorrow’s pomp and pageantry, 

The heartless luxury of the tomb : 

But she remembers thee as one 
Long loved and for a season gone. 

For thee her poets’ lyre is wreathed, 

Her marble wrought, her music breathed : 
For thee she rings the birthday bells ; 

Of thee her babes’ first lisping tells : 

For thine her evening prayer is said 
At palace couch, and cottage bed ; 

Her soldier, closing with the foe, 

Gives for thy sake a deadlier blow ; 

His plighted maiden, when she fears 
For him, the joy of her young years, 
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears. 

And she, the mother of thy boys, 
Though in her eye and faded cheek 
Is read the grief she will not speak, 

The memory of her buried joys, 

And even she who gave thee birth, 

Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth, 

Talk of thy doom without a sigh : 

For thou art freedom’s now, and fame’s, 
One of the few, the immortal names 
That were not born to die. 

Fitz-Green Halleck. 


CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

arf a league, half a league, 

• Half a league onward, 

All in the valley of death 
Rode the six hundred. 

“ Forward, the Light Brigade! 
Charge for the guns! ’ ’ he said. 


Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

“ Forward, the Light Brigade!'*' 

Was there a man dismayed ? 

Not though the soldiers knew 
Some one had blundered : 

Theirs not to make reply, 

Theirs not to reason why. 

Theirs but to do and die; 

Into the valley of death, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon in front of them, 

Volleyed and thundered: 

Stormed at with shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well: 

Into the jaws of death, 

Into the mouth of hell, 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabres bare, 
Flashed as they turned in air, 

Sab’ring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 
All the world wondered : 

Plunged in the battery smoke, 

Right through the line they broke 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke, 
Shattered and sundered. 

Then they rode back—but not, 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, 

Cannon to left of them, 

Cannon behind them, 

Volleyed and thundered. 

Stormed at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell, 

They that had fought so well, 

Came through the jaws of death, 
Back from the mouth of hell, 

All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 

O, the wild charge they made! 

All the world wondered. 

Plonor the charge they made ! 

Honor the Light Brigade, 

Noble six hundred i 

Alfred Tennyson. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


2 35 


PEACEABLE SECESSION IMPOSSIBLE. 

This eloquent and prophetic passage from a speech delivered 
Dy Daniel Webster many years before the great Civil War, was 
fulfilled with fearful accuracy. 

M r. President, I should much prefer 
to have heard from every member on 
this floor declarations of opinion that 
this Union could never be dissolved, than 
the declaration of opinion by any body that, 
in any case, under the pressure of any cir¬ 
cumstances, such a dissolution was possible. 
I hear with distress and anguish the word 
“secession,” especially when it falls from 
the lips of those who are patriotic, and 
known to the country, and known all over 
the world for their political services. 

Secession ! Peaceable secession! Sir, 
your eyes and mine are never destined to 
see that miracle. The dismemberment of 
this vast country without convulsion ! The 
breaking up of the fountains of the great 
deep without ruffling the surface ! Who is 
so foolish—I beg everybody’s pardon—as to 
expect to see any such thing ? 

Sir, he who sees these States now revolv¬ 
ing in harmony around a common center, 
and expects to see them quit their places 
and fly off without convulsion, may look 
the next hour to see the heavenly bodies 
rush from their spheres, and jostle against 
each other in the realms of c pace, with¬ 
out causing the crush of the universe. 
There can be no such thing as a peace¬ 
able secession. Peaceable secession is 
an utter impossibility. Is the great consti¬ 
tution under which we live, covering this 
whole country, is it to be thawed and melted 
away by secession, as the snows on the 
mountain melt under the influence of a ver¬ 
nal sun, disappear almost unobserved, and 
run off? No, sir ! No, sir ! I will not state 
what might produce the disruption of the 
Union ; but, sir, I see as plainly as I see the 
sun in heaven, what that disruption itself 
must produce ; I see that it must produce 
war, and such a war as I will not describe, 
in its two-fold character . D. WEBSTER. 


LINCOLN’S ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG. 

The War Department appropriated $5,000 to cast this speech 
In bronze and set it up on the battle-fietld atGettysburg. 

F our score and seven years ago our 
fathers brought forth on this con¬ 
tinent a new nation, conceived in lib¬ 


erty and dedicated to the proposition that 
all men are created equal. 

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, 
testing whether that nation, or any nation 
so conceived and so dedicated, can long 
endure. We are met on a great battlefield 
of that war. We have come to dedicate a 
portion of that field as a final resting place 
for those who here gave their lives that that 
nation might live. It is altogether fitting 
and proper that we should do this. 

But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedi¬ 
cate, we cannot consecrate, w r e cannot hal¬ 
low this ground. The brave men, living 
and dead, who struggled here, have conse¬ 
crated it far above our poor power to add or 
detract. The world will little note, nor 
long remember, what we say here, but it can 
never forget what they did here. It is for 
us, the living, rather to be dedicated here 
to the unfinished work which they who 
fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. 
It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the 
great task remaining before us : that from 
the same honored dead we take increased 
devotion to that cause for which they gave 
the last full measure of devotion; that we 
here highly resolve that these dead should 
not have died in vain ; that this nation, 
under God, shall have a new birth of free¬ 
dom, and that government of the people, by 
the people, for the people, shall not perish 
from the earth. Abraham Lincoln. 


THE RIFLEMAN’S FANCY SHOT. 

The following touching incident had its counterpart in many 
happenings during the great Civil War in which often brothers, 
divided in sentiment, joined the opposing armies and fought 
against each other. 

R ifleman, shoot me a fancy shot 

Straight at the heart of yon prowling 
vedette ; 

Ring me a ball in the glittering spot 
That shines on his breast like an amulet! ' * 

“Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn 
bead, 

There’s music around when my barrel’s in 
tune! ’ ’ 

Crack ! went the rifle, the messenger sped, 
And dead from his horse fell the ringing 
dragoon. 




236 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


“ Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes 
and snatch 

From your victim some trinket to handsel 
first blood ; 

A button, a loop, or that luminous patch 

That gleams in the moon like a diamond 
stud ! ’ * 

“Oh captain ! I staggered, and sunk on my 
track, 

When I gazed on the face of that fallen 
vedette, 

For he looked so like you, as he lay on his 
back, 

That my heart rose upon me, and masters 
me yet. 

“ But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket 
of gold; 

An inch from the centre my lead broke its 
way, 

Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, 

Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.” 

“Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—’tis 
she, 

My brother’s young bride,—and the fallen 
dragoon 

Was her husband—Hush ! soldier, ’twas 
Heaven’s decree, 

We must bury him there, by the light of the 
moon ! 

u But hark ! the far bugles their warnings 
unite; 

War is a virtue,—weakness a sin ; 

There’s a lurking and loping around us 
to-night;— 

Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in I ” 


AN INCIDENT OF THE WAR. 

(Sing the verses in Italics .) 

D own the placid river gliding, 

’Twixt the banks of waving life, 
Sailed a steamboat heavy laden 
’Mid the scenes of former strife. 

On the deck a throng of trav’lers 
Listened to a singer’s voice, 

As it sung that song of pleading,— 
Song that makes the sad rejoice.— 


“Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly, 

While the 7iearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high : 

Hide me, O, my Saviour , hide, 

Mill the storm of life is past, 

Safe hi to the haven guide, 

Oh, receive my soul at last.” 

In the throng an aged soldier 
Heard the voice with ears intent, 
And his quickened memory speeding 
O’er the lapse of years was sent. 

And he thought of hard-fought battles, 
Of the carnage and the gore, 

And the lonely picket guarding 
On the low Potomac’s shore. 

Of the clash and roar of cannon, 

And the cry of wounded men, 

Of the sick’ning sights of slaughter 
In some Southern prison pen. 

And that voice was old, familiar, 

And he’d heard it long ago. 

While his lonely picket guarding 
With a measured beat, and slow. 

When it ceased and all was silent, 
Thus the aged soldier cried : 

“ Sir, were you a Union Soldier, 

Did you fight against our side ? ” 

“ Stranger, ’neath yon starry pennon 
Fought I for the shackled slave, 

For my country and her freedom, 

And her sacred name to save.” 

“ Were you near the calm Potomac 
On a frosty autumn night ? 

Did you guard your lonely picket 
As the stars were shining bright ? 

“ Did you sing that song so grandly, 
Filling all the silent air ? 

Did you sing to your Redeemer 
As you paced so lonely there ? ” 

Thus the aged soldier questioned, 

And his eyes were filled with tears 
As he heard the singer answer, 

At his tale of hopes and fears: 





PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


237 


‘‘Yes, I well recall that evening 
On the low Potomac’s shore, 

As I paced my lonely station, 

And re-paced it o’er and o’er. 

And I thought of home and household,— 
Of my wife and children three, 

And my darling baby Bessie, 

Dearest in the world to me. 

“ Thinking thus, my heart was troubled 
With a dread, foreboding ill ; 

And I listened, but the midnight 
All around was calm and still. 

‘ ‘ Then I sang the song my mother 
Taught me, bending at her knee ; 

And all fear of coming trouble 
Quickly passed away from me.” 

Thus the singer told his story ; 

Then the aged soldier said,— 

As his heart was stirred with feeling, 

And his thoughts were backward led,— 

“ And I, too, my lonely station 
Paced and re-paced o’er and o’er, 

Where the blazing camp-fires flashing, 
Lighted up the other shore. 

“On the banks, across the river, 

There I saw your coat of blue, 

And my hand was on the trigger, 

As I aimed my gun at you ; 

“ When across the silent water 
Came the song you’ve sung to-day, 

And my heart was touched and softened 
By that sweet, melodious lay : 

“ ‘ Other refuge have I none. 

Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; 

Leave, oh, leave me not alone, 

Stiil support and comfort me. 

All my trust on Thee is stayed, 

All my help from Thee I bring , 

Cover my defenceless head 

With the shadow of Thy wing. * 

•' And I brought my gun to carry, 

For I could not shoot you then; 

And your humble prayer was answered 
By our God, the Lord of men.” 


Then they clasped their hands as brothers, 
While the steamboat glided on 
As they talked of hard-fought battles, 

And of deeds long past and gone,— 

How Jehovah had been o’er them, 
Shielded from the fiery wave, 

While they, beneath their banners, 

Fought the battles of the brave. 

Harry W. Kimbari,. 


SHERIDAN’S RIDE. 

This is one of the most famous poem’s of the Civil War. It 
recounts with dramatic power Sheridans famous ride of Oct. 
10, 1864, to Cedar Creek, where General Early was driving back 
the Union forces. 

U p from the South at break of day, 

Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, 
The affrighted air with a shudder 
bore, 

Like a herald in haste to the chieftain’s 
door, 

The terrible grumble and rumble and roar. 
Telling the battle was on once more, 

And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

And wider still those billows of war 
Thundered along the horizon’s bar; 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, 
Making the blood of the listener cold, 

As he thought of the stake in that fiety fray, 
And Sheridan twenty miles away. 

But there is a road from Winchester town 
A good, broad highway leading down ; 

And there, through the flush of the morn 
ing light, 

A steed as black as the steeds of night 
Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, 

As if he knew the terrible need: 

He stretched away with his utmost speed „ 
Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, 
With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 

Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thunder¬ 
ing South, 

The dust, like smoke from the cannon’s 
mouth, 

Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and 
faster, 

Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster, 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the 
master 



238 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


Were beating like prisoners assaulting their 
walls, 

Impatient to be where the battlefield calls; 

Every nerve of the charger was strained to 
full play, 

With Sheridan only ten miles away. 

Under his spurning feet the road 

Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, 

And the landscape sped away behind 

Like an ocean flying before the wind; 

And the stead, like a bark fed with furnace 
ire, 

Swept on, with his wild eyes full of fire. 

But lo ! he is nearing his heart’s desire ; 

He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring 
fray, 

With Sheridan only five miles away. 


WRAP THE FLAG AROUND HE, BOYS. 

This scene may be enacted on the stage in tableau, while ai 
invisible speaker recites the words, and an invisible chorus sing 
the refrain. 


O wrap the flag around me, boys, to 
^ die were far more sweet 

With freedom’s starry emblem, boy9, 
to be my winding sheet. 

In life I loved to see it wave, and follow 
where it led, 

And now my eyes grow dim, my hands 
would clasp its last bright shred. 


Refy'ain. 

Then wrap the flag around me, boys, 
To die were far more sweet, 

With freedom’s starry emblem, boys, 
To be my winding sheet. 


The first that the general saw were the 
groups 

Of stragglers, and then the retreating 
troops; 

What was done ? what to do ? a glance told 
him both. 

Then, striking his spurs, with a terrible 
oath, 

He dashed down the line, ‘mid a storm of 
huzzahs, 

And the wave of retreat checked its course 
there, because 

The sight of the master compelled it to 
pause. 

With foam and with dust the black charger 
was gray; 

By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril’s 
play, 


O, I had thought to greet you, boys, on 
many a well won field, 

When to our starry banner, boys, the 
trait’rous foe should yield. 

But now, alas, I am denied my dearest 
earthly prayer; 

You’ll follow and you’ll meet the foe, but 
I shall not be there. 

But though my body moulders, boys, my 
spirit will be free, 

And every comrade’s honor, boys, will still 
be dear to me. 

There in the thick and bloody fight never 
let your ardor lag, 

For I’ll be there still hovering near, above 
the dear old flag. 


He seemed to the whole great army to say, 
* ‘ I have brought you Sheridan all the way 
From Winchester, down to save the day.” 
Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! 

Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! 

And when their statues are placed on high, 
Under the dome of the Union sky— 

The American soldier’s temple of fame— 
There, with the glorious general’s name, 

Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, 
“Here’s the steed that saved the day, 

By carrying Sheridan into the fight 

From Winchester, twenty miles away ! ” 

Thos- B. Read. 


THE BLUE AND THE GRAY. 

One of the first marks of reconciliation between North and 
South was shown by the women of ^olumbus, Mississippi, who, 
animated by noble sentiments, made impartial offerings to the 
memory of the dead. They strewed flowers alike on the graves 
of the Confederate and of the National soldiers. 

B y the flow of the inland river, 

Whence the fleets of iron have fled , 
Where the blades of the grave-grass 
quiver, 

Asleep on the ranks of the dead :— 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day; 

Under the one, the Blue, 

Under the other, the Gray. 

• I 





PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


239 


These in the robings of glory, 

Those in the gloom of defeat, 

All with the battle-blood gory, 

In the dusk of eternity meet:— 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 

Under the laurel, the Blue, 

Under the willow, the Gray. 

From the silence of sorrowful hours, 

The desolate mourners go, 

Lovingly laden with flowers, 

Alike for the friend and the foe :— 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 

Under the roses, the Blue, 

Under the lilies, the Gray. 

So, with an equal splendor, 

The morning sun-rays fall, 

With a touch impartially tender, 

On the blossoms blooming for all 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 
Broidered with gold, the Blue, 
Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 

So, when the summer calleth, 

On forest and field of grain, 

With an equal murmur fa'lleth 
The cooling drip of the rain :— 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 

Wet with the rain, the Blue, 

Wet with the rain, the Gray. 

Sadly, but not with upbraiding, 

The generous deed was done ; 

In the storm of the years that are fading, 
No braver battle was won :— 

Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 

Under the blossoms, the Blue, 

Under the garlands, the Gray. 

No more shall the war cry sever, 

Or the winding rivers be red; 

They banish our anger forever 

When they laurel the graves of our dead 1 
Under the sod and the dew, 

Waiting the judgment day ; 

Love and tears, for the Blue, 

Tears and love for the Gray. 

F. M. Finch. 


THE NEW ROSETTE. 

By Special Permission of the Author. 

Thirty-one years after the close of the Civil Wat, Sept. 16 , 
1896, a reunion of the Union and Confederate soldiers was held 
at Washington, D. C. It was a happy meeting of old foes who 
admired each other. They were brothers in common national 
blood and it is but just to say they parted—more than friends— 
brothers in sentiment. None but the old soldier could fully 
appreciate the occasion or with him enter into its true felicity o! 
it. Love and good cheer ruled the hour. A new rosette com- 
posed of the mingling colors of “Yankee blue and Confederate 
gray” was worn by the happy old soldiers. Mr. Geo. M. Vick¬ 
ers, himself a “Yankee soldier,” composed the following poeu 
which was recited amid great applause from both sides. 

L ET us sing a song 

That all may hear ; 

Sound the death of wrong, 

The knell of fear ; 

For in this cordial clasp of hands 
America united stands. 

The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray, 

Without regret, 

Is worn to-day. 

Fire the signal gun, 

Proclaim our creed; 

Liberty has won, 

And we are freed ; 

Our country’s creed is liberty, 

And freedom shall our watchword be * 
The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray, 

Love’s amulet, 

Shall be to-day. 

Ring the bells with pride, 

The brave are here ; 

Heroes true and tried, 

And each a peer; 

Their deeds and valor e’er shall be 
Our caveat on land and sea. 

The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray, 

A pledge, a threat, 

Is worn to-day. 

Give the armies praise, 

Of Grant, of Lee, 

Shafts in honor raise, 

That all may see ; 

Proclaim that as they did, so we 
Would do and die for liberty ; 

The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray 
Bids none forget 
Their dead to-day. 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR ■ 


240 

Let the broadsides roar 
From ship to ship ; 

Shout your cheers from shore, 

Let colors dip ; 

Brave Farragut, Buchanan, too, 
Showed what our gallant tars can do. 
The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray, 

Shall homage get 
From all to-day. 

Give thanks to God, 

That we are one ; 

He withholds the rod, 

Our strife is done ; 

One flag alone shall o’er us wave, 

One country, or for each a grave. 

The new rosette 
Of Blue and Gray, 

With love’s tears wet 
Is worn to-day. 

Geo. M. Vickers. 


CUSTER’S LAST CHARGE. 

Gen. George A. Custer. Born in Ohio in IS39. Served with 
distinction through the Civil War. Was present at General 
Lee’s surrender. During the Indian outbreak in the West in 
1876 he was in charge of the United States troops, and was 
noted for his sagacity in Indian fighting. The Indians feared 
him, and called him the Great Yellow-Haired Chief. He was 
entrapped, killed, and horribly mutilated by the savages, June 
26, 1876. 

t C'TAEad ! Is it possible ? He, the bold 
\^J rider, 

Custer, our hero, the first in the 
fight, 

Charming the bullets of yore to fly wider, 
Shunning our battle-king’s ringlets of 
light! 

Dead ! our young chieftain, and dead all 
forsaken ! 

No one to tell us the way of his fall ! 
Slain in the desert, and never to waken, 
Never, not even to victory’s call ! ” 

Comrades, he’s gone ; but ye need not be 
grieving. 

No, may my death be like his when I die ! 
No regrets wasted on words I am leaving, 
Falling with brave men, and face to the 
sky. 

Death’s but a journey, the greatest must 
take it : 

Fame is eternal, and better than all. 


Gold though the bowl be, ’tis fate that 
must break it, 

Glory can hallow the fragments that fall. 

Proud for his fame that last day that he met 
them ! 

All the night long he had been on their 
track. 

Scorning their traps and the men that had 
set them, 

Wild for a charge that should never give 
back. 

There on the hill-top he halted and saw 
them,—- 

Lodges all loosened and ready to fly. 

Hurrying scouts, with the tidings to awe 
them, 

Told of his coming before he was nigh. 

All the wide valley was full of their forces, 

Gathered to cover the lodges’ retreat,— 

Warriors running in haste to their horses, 

Thousands of enemies close to his feet ! 

Down in the valleys the ages had hollowed, 

There lay the Sitting Bull’s camp for a 
prey ! 

Numbers ! What recked he ? What recked 
those who followed ? 

Men who had fought ten to one ere that 
day ? 

Out swept the squadrons, the fated three 
hundred, 

Into the battle-line steady and full ; 

Then down the hillside exultingly thun¬ 
dered, 

Into the hordes of the Old Sitting Bull ! 

Wild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne, 

Wild Plorse’s braves, and the rest of their 
crew, 

Shrank from that charge like a herd from a 
lion. 

Then closed around the great hell of wild 
Sioux. 

Right to the centre he charged, and then, 
facing— 

Hark to those yells ? and around them, 
0 I 1 , see ! 

Over the hilltops the devils came racing, 

Coming as fast as the waves of the sea ! 

Red was the circle of fire about them : 

No hope of victory, no ray of light, 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


241 


Shot through that terrible black cloud 
without them, 

Brooding in death over Custer’s iast fight. 

Then, did he blench ? Did he die like a 
craven, 

Begging tne torturing fiends for his lile? 

Was there a soldier who carried the Seven 

Flinched like a coward or fled from the 
strife ? 

No, by the blood of our Custer, no 
quailing ? 

There in the midst of the devils they 
close, 

Hemmed in by thousands, but ever assail- 
i ng, 

Fighting like tigers, all bayed amid foes ! 

Thicker and thicker the bullets came 
singing; 

Down go the horses and riders and all ; 

Swiftly the warriors round them were 
ringing 

Circling like buzzards awaiting their fall. 

See the wild steeds of the mountain and 
prairie, 

Savage eyes gleaming from forests of 
mane; 

Quivering lances with pennons so airy ; 

War-painted warriors charging amain. 

Backward again and again they were driven, 

Shrinking to close with the lost little 
band, 

Never a cap that had worn the bright 
Seven 

Bowed till its wearer was dead on the 
strand. 

Closer and closet the death-circle growing, 

Even the leader’s voice, clarion clear. 

Rang out his words of encouragement 
glowing, 

“We can but die once, boys, but sell 
your lives dear ! ’ ’ 

Dearly they sold them like Berserkers 
raging, 

Facing the death that encircled them 
round ; 

Death’s bitter pangs by their vengeance 
assuaging, 

Marking their tracks by the dead on the 
ground. 

16 H 


Comrades our children shall yet tell their 
story, 

Custer’s last charge 011 the Old Sitting 
Bull ; 

And ages shall swear that the cup of his 
glory, 

Needed but that death to render it full. 

Frederick Whitaker. 


FITZHUGH LEE. 

General Fitzhugh Lee was Consul at Havana when the Span. 
ish-American War broke out. His heroic action in refusing to 
leave his post though ordered home, until every American sub¬ 
ject was safely transported, being himself the last to depart, 
called forth universal praise. 

C ooe amid the battle’s din 

Ice without, but fire within, 
heading to the charge his men, 
Much we praise the soldier then; 

But we honor far the more 
One who on a foreign shore, 

True to duty takes his stand 
With his country’s flag in hand, 

And, though great the peril be, 

Bows no head and bends no knee— 

Fitzhugh Lee. 

Gallant veteran, tried and true, 

Hands and hearts go forth to you. 

’Mid the sounds that others stir, 

Hiss of reptile, yelp of cur, 

’Mid our country’s foes you stood 
With a calm and fearless mood. 
Therefore, veteran, tried and true, 

Strong our pride has grown in you ; 

And when you return o’er sea 
Warm your welcome here shall be, 

Fitzhugh Lee. 

Where our mountains milk the sky> 
Where our many cities lie, 

By Potomac’s hallowed stream ; 

Where the Hudson’s waters gleam, 

By the Mississippi’s mouth, 

East and West and North and South— 
Whersoe’er o’er land and seas, 

Floats Old Glory in the breeze, 
Whereso’er our people be, 

All to honor you agree, 

Fitzhugh Lee. 

Thomas Dunn English 




242 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


OBJECTION TO THE MEXICAN WAR. 

In opposing the Mexican War Daniel Webster uttered the 
following words against expansion of territory: 

S ir, to speak more seriously, this war was 
waged for the object of creating new 
States on the southern frontier of the 
United States out of Mexican territory, and 
with such population as could be found resi¬ 
dent thereupon. I have opposed this object. 
I am against all accessions of territory to 
form new States. And this is no matter of 
sentimentality, which I am to parade before 
mass-meetings or before my constituents at 
home. It is not a matter with me of declama¬ 
tion or of regret, or of expressed repugnance. 
It is a matter of firm unchangeable purpose. 
I yield nothing to the force of circumstances 
that have occurred, or that I can consider 
as likely to occur. And therefore I say, 
sir, that if I were asked to-day whether, 
for the sake of peace, I would take a treaty 
for adding two new states to the Union on 
our southern border, I would say No !— 
distinctly, No ! And I wish every man in 
the United States to understand that to be 
my judgment and my purpose. 

I said upon our southern border, because 
the present proposition takes that locality. 
I would say the same of the western, the 
northeastern, or of any other border. I 
resist to-day, and for ever, and to the end, 
any proposition to add any foreign territory, 
south or west, north or east, to the States 
of this Union as they are constituted and 
held together under the constitution. Sir, 
I see well enough all the adverse indica¬ 
tions. But I am sustained by a deep and a 
conscientious sense of duty; and while 
supported by that feeling, and while such 
great interests are at stake, I defy auguries, 
and ask no omen but my country’s cause. 

D. Webster. 


^USTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS. 

i Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master 
of Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copenhagen ; but he, making 
his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where 
he was for sometime hidden. Having seized a favorable oppor¬ 
tunity, he declared himself to the peasants, whom he incited 
to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1523 
he gained the throne of Sweden. 

S WEDES ! countrymen ! behold at last, 
after a thousand dangers past, your 
chief, Gustavus, here. Long have I 
sighed ’mid foreign bands, long have I 
roamed in foreign lands;—at length ’mid 


Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish 
spear \ Yet, looking forth, although I see 
none but the fearless and the free, sad 
thoughts the sight inspires ; for where, I 
think, on Swedish ground, save where these 
mountains frown around, can that best 
heritage be found—the freedom of our sires? 
—Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke ; 
the galling chain our fathers broke is round 
our country now ! On perjured craft and 
ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has 
built, and Sweden’s crown, all blood-bespilt 
rests on a foreign browu 

On you your country turns her eyes— 
on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of 
noblest stem ! The foremost place in rolls 
of fame, by right your fearless fathers 
claim ; yours is the glory of their name— 
’tis yours to equal them. —As rushing down, 
when winter reigns, resistless to the shak¬ 
ing plains, the torrent tears its way, and all 
that bars its onward course sweeps to the 
sea with headlong force,—so swept your 
sires the Danes and Norse can ye do less 
than they f 

Rise ! re-assert your ancient pride, and 
down the hills a living tide of fiery valor 
pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, 
back to his den the foe will cower;—then, 
then shall Freedom’s glorious hour strike 
for our land once more ! What! silent— 
motionless, ye stand ? Gleams not an eye ? 
Moves not a hand ? Think ye to fly your 
fate ? Or till some better cause be given, 
waitye?—Then wait! till, banished, driven, 
ye fear to meet the face of Heaven , till ye 
are slaughtered, wait ! 

But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay 
the thought. Hark Hear that blood¬ 
hound’s bay ! You blazing village see ! 
Rise, countrymen Awake ! Defy the 
haughty Dane ! Your battle cry be Free¬ 
dom ! We will do or die ! On ! Death 
or victory ! 

THE BABY AND THE SOLDIERS. 

From time immemorial the fondness f th~ soldier for chil. 
dren has Deen marked. The following incident is but ooed 
thousands embalmed in literatur. 

R ough and ready the troopers ride, 

Great bearded men, with swords by 
side; 

They have ridden long, they have ridden 
hard, 





PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


243 


They are travel-stained and battle-scarred ; 
The hard ground shakes with their martial 
tramp, 

And coarse is the laugh of the men in camp. 

They reach the spot where the mother 
stands 

With a baby clapping its little hands, 
Laughing aloud at the gallant sight 
Of the mounted soldiers fresh from the fight. 
The Captain laughs out: “I’ll give you 
this, 

A handful of gold, your baby to kiss.” 

Smiles the mother : “A kiss can’t be sold, 
But gladly he’ll kiss a soldier bold.” 

He lifts the baby with manly grace 
And covers with kisses its smiling face, 

Its rosy lips and its dimpled charms, 

And it crows with delight in the soldier’s 
arms. 

“Not all for the Captain,” the soldiers call; 
. “ The baby, we know, has one for all.” 

To the soldiers’ breasts the baby is pressed 
By the strong, rough men, 'and by turns 
caressed, 

And louder it laughs, and the mother fair, 
Smiles with mute joy as the kisses they 
share. 

“Just such a kiss,” cries one trooper grim, 
“ When I left my boy I gave to him; ” 
“And just such a kiss on the parting day 
I gave to my girl as asleep she lay.” 

Such were the words of the soldiers brave, 
And their eyes were moist as the kiss they 
gave. 


ON THE FORCE BILL. 

or what purpose is the unlimited control 
of the purse and of the sword to be 
placed at the disposition of the execu¬ 
tive ? To make war against one of the free 
ana sovereign members of this confedera¬ 
tion, which the bill proposes to deal with, 
not as a State, but as a collection of banditti 
or outlaws , thus exhibiting the impious 
spectacle of this government, the creature 
of the States, making war against the power 
to which it owes its existence. 


Do I say that the bill declares war against 
South Carolina? No I It decrees a massa¬ 
cre of her citizens ! War has something 
ennobling about it, and, with all its horrors, 
brings into action the highest qualities, 
intellectual and moral. It was, perhaps, in 
the order of Providence, that it should be 
permitted for that very purpose. But this 
bill declares no war, except, indeed, it be 
that which savages wage; a war, not against 
the community, but the citizens of whom 
that community is composed. But I regard 
it as worse than savage warfare—as an 
attempt to take away life, under the color 
of law, without the trial by jury, or an)' 
other safeguard which the constitution has 
thrown around the life of the citizen! It 
authorizes the President, or even his depu¬ 
ties, when they may suppose the law to be 
violated, without the intervention of a court 
or jury, to kill without mercy or discrimi¬ 
nation . 

It has been said, by the senator from 
Tennessee, to be a measure of peace ! Yes, 
such peace as the wolf gives to the lamb, 
the kite to the dove ! Such peace as Russia 
gives to Poland, or death to its victim ! 
A peace by extinguishing the political 
existence of the State, by awing her into 
an abandonment of the exercise of every 
power which constitutes her a sovereign 
community! It is to South Carolina a 
question of self-preservation ; and I pro¬ 
claim it, that, should this bill pass, ~nd an 
attempt be made to enforce it, it will be 
resisted at every hazard—even that of death 
itself! 

Death is not the greatest calamity ; there 
are others, still more terrible to the free and 
brave, and among them may be placed the 
loss of liberty and honor. There are 
thousands of her brave sons who, if need 
be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down 
their lives in defense of the State, and the 
great principles of constitutional liberty for 
which she is contending. God forbid that 
this should become necessary ! It never 
can be, unless this government is resolved 
to bring the question to extremity; when 
her gallant sons will stand prepared to per¬ 
form the last duty-—to die nobly ! 

John C. Calhoun. 




244 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


THE NEW “ALABAMA.” 

One of the largest battleships of the American Navy. The 
following poem was written by a southerner during the Spanish 
American War. 

T har’s a bran new “Alabama” that 
they’re fittin’ out for sea, 

An’ them that’s seen her tell me she’s 
as lively as kin be ; 

An’ them big Havana gin’nils better open 
wide their gates 

Ef she’s any like her namesake of the old 
Confed’rit States! 

A bran’ new “Alabama!” She orter be 
the best 

That ever plowed a furrow in the ocean— 
east or west! 

An’ I’m shore that she’ll be heard from— 
jest open wide your gates 
Ef she’s any like her namesake of the old 
Confed’rit States ! 

I bet she’s full o’ sperrit I I bet her guns 
’ll keep 

The Spanish cruisers huntin’ fer a harbor 
on the deep ! 

She’ll storm the forts an’ take ’em—she’ll 
batter down the gates 

Ef she’s any like her namesake of the old 
Confed’rit States ! 


THE “MERRIMAC.” 

On June 3rd, young Lieutenant Hobson of Alabama and 
eight volunteer seamen performed one of the most daring and 
heroic acts in history, by running the “Merrimac” through the 
gauntlet of Spanish forts and sinking it in the mouth of Santiago 
harbor to prevent the Spanish fleet from coming out. The ship 
in sinking unfortunately swung but of the channel far enough 
to leave room for ships to pass, but the deed was none the less 
daring and heroic. 

T hunder peal and roar and rattle of the 
ships in line of battle, 

Rumbling noise of steel volcanoes 
hurling metal from the shore, 
Drowned the sound of quiet speaking and 
the creaking, creaking, creaking 
Of the steering-gear that turned her 
toward the narrow harbor door. 

On the hulk was calm and quiet, deeper for 
the shoreward riot; 

Dumb they watched the fountains 
streaming; mute they heard the 
waters hiss, 

Till one laughed and murmured, “ Surely 
it was worth while rising early 
For a fireworks exhibition of such char¬ 
acter as this.” 


Down the channel the propeller drove her 
as they tried to shell her 

From the dizzy heights of Morro and 
Socapa parapet; 

She was torn and she was battered, and 
her upper works were shattered 

By the bursting of the missiles that in 
air above her met. 

Parallels of belching cannon marked the 
winding course she ran on, 

And they flashed through morning dark¬ 
ness like a giant’s flaming teeth ; 

Waters steaming, boiling, churning; rows 
of muzzles at each turning ; 

Mines like geysers spouting after and 
before her and beneath. 

Not a man was there who faltered ; not a 
theory was altered 

Of the detailed plan agreed on—not a 
doubt was there expressed ; 

This was not a time for changing, deviat¬ 
ing, re-arranging; 

Let the great God help the wounded, and 
their courage save the rest. 

And they w r on. But greater glory than the 
winning is the story 

Of the foeman’s friendly greeting of that 
valiant captive band ; 

Speech of his they understood not, talk to 
him in words they could not; 

But their courage spoke a language that 
all men might understand. 


“ DO NOT CHEER.” 

General O. O. Howard, the great Christian general on the 
Northern side and General Stonewall Jackson the pious hero of 
the Confederacy, have their counterparts in Captain Philip of 
the battleship “Texas," at the battle of Santiago; July 4 . 1898 . 
No ship in that great naval battle did more gallant service than 
the “Texas.” When the victory was won and the decks were 
strewn with dying and wounded Spaniards rescued from burn- 
ing ships and from the sea the sailors of the “Texas” prepared to 
cheer. Captain Philip stopped them with the words, “Don't 
cheer, boys, the. poor fellows are dying. Let every man who 
believes in God join with me in prayer.” It was a most affect¬ 
ing scene. 

T he smoke hangs heavy o’er the sea, 
Beyond the storm-swept battle line, 
Where floats the flag of Stripes and 
Stars, 

Triumphant o’er the shattered foe, 

The walls of Morro thunder still their fear; 
Helpless, a mass of flame, thefoeman drifts, 
And o’er her decks the flag of white. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


2 45 


Hushed voices pass the word from lip to 
lip, 

And grimy sailors silent stand beside the 
guns, 

“ Cease firing. An enemy is dying. Do 
not cheer.” 

“ An enemy is dying. Do not cheer.” 

Thy servants’ glorious tribute to Thy name, 

Christ, Lord, who rules the battle well, 

Who, watching, guards our destinies, 

And seeth e’en the sparrows fall. 

Redly, through drifting smoke, the sun 
looks down 

On silent guns and shot-pierced bloody 
wreck, 

Long lines of weary men, with heads bowed 
low, 

Give thanks, in presence of Thy reaper 
grim. 

Thy will be done, O Lord, Thou rulest all. 

J. Herbert Stevens. 


THE HERO DOWN BELOW. 

After the battle of Santiago in which the “Brooklyn," Commo¬ 
dore Schley’s flagship and theimighty “Oregon"’ had chased the 
“Christobal Colon" for 60 miles and forced her to surrender, the 
generous hearted Commodore sent down for the engineers and 
firemen who for hours had remained in the dark bowels of the 
ship in a temperature of 120 degrees piling in coal and forcing 
the ship to her greatest speed. The almost naked men begrimed 
as black as Ethiopians appeared on deck ; and with tears in his 
eyes Commodore Schley pointed his gunners and officers to 
them and exclaimed : “ These are the heroes, they are the men 

who won this battle." 

I N the awful heat and torture 

Of the fires that leap and dance 
In and out the furnace doors that never 
close, 

On in silence he must work, 

For with him there’s ne’er a chance 
On his brow to feel the outer breeze that 
blows. 

For they’ve locked him in a room, 
Down below, 

In a burning, blazing tomb, 

Down below, 

Where he cannot see the sky, 

Cannot learn in time to fly, 

When destruction stalketh nigh, 

Down below. 

Though his name is never mentioned, 
Though we see or know him not, 

Though his deeds may never bring him 
worldy fame, 


He’s a man above the others 
And the bravest of the lot— 

And the hero of the battle, just the same. 
He’s the man who does the work. 
Down below, 

From the labor does not shirk, 

Down below, 

He is shoveling day and night, 
Feeding flames a-blazing bright, 
Keeping up a killing fight 
Down below. 


WHEELER AT SANTIAGO. 

General Joseph Wheeler, of Spanish American War fame, won 
the sobriquet of ‘‘Little Fighting Joe,” while serving in the 
Confederate army during the Civil War. He was the first, and 
General Fitzhugh Lee the second officer from the Southern side, 
of that great conflict to enlist in the Spanish-American War. 
Wheeler contributed much to the success of the battle ofSanti- 
ago though prostrated with fever at the time. 

I NTO the thick of the fight he went, pallid 
and sick and wan, 

Borne in an ambulance to the front, a 
ghostly wisp of a man ; 

But the fighting soul of a fighting man, 
approved in the long ago, 

Went to the front in that ambulance, and 
the body of Fighting Joe. 

Out from the front they were coming back, 
smitten of Spanish shells— 

Wounded boys from the Vermont hills and 
the Alabama dells ; 

‘ ‘ Put them into this ambulance ; I’ll ride to 
the front,” he said, 

And he climbed to the saddle and rode right 
on, that little old ex-Confed. 

From end to end of the long blue ranks rose 
up the ringing cheers, 

And many a powder-blackened face was 
furrowed with sudden tears, 

As with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, 
and hair and beard of snow, 

Into the hell of shot and shell rode little old 
Fighting Joe ! 

Sick with fever and racked with pain, he 
could not stay away, 

For he heard the song of the yester-years in 
the deep-mouthed cannon’s bay— 

He heard in the calling song of the guns 
there was work for him to do, 

Where his country’s best blood splashed 
and flowed ’round the old Red, White 
and Blue. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


246 

Fevered body and hero heart! This Union’s 
heart to you 

Beats out in love and reverence—and to 
each dear boy in blue 

Who stood or fell ’mid the shot and shell, 
and cheered in the face of the foe, 

As, wan and white, to the heart of the fight 
rode little old Fighting Joe ! 

James Lindsay Gordon. 

DIXIE DOODLE. 

century of peace has dawned ; the 
North and South are plighted, 

And all their lovers’ quarrels have 
been forever righted. 

There is no North, there is no South, no 
Johnny Reb to bandy ; 

No feud, no scores to settle up—no Yankee 
Doodle Dandy. 

What have we, then ? A land serene, united, 
heart-to-hand, sir, 

Which, like a sum of numbers, never yields 
but one true answer, 

Who have we, then, in this great land, 
above its bonded boodle, 

With Northern pluck and Southern nerve ? 
His name is Dixie Doodle I 

Then, hip, hurrah ! for this brave youth, 
unbought of bond or boodle— 

The conqueror of future worlds—the grow¬ 
ing Dixie Doodle ! 


THE GREATER REPUBLIC. 

Extract from the speech of Senator Albert J. Beveridge of 
Indiana, delivered after a personal visit to the Philippine islands 
before the Union League of Philadelphia. 

Enteemen of the Union League : 

The Republic never retreats. 
Why should it retreat? The Re¬ 
public is the highest form of civilization, 
and civilization must advance. The Re¬ 
public’s young men are the most virile and 
unwasted of the world and they pant for 
enterprise worthy of their power. The 
Republic’s preparation has been the self-dis¬ 
cipline of a century and that preparedness 
has found its task. The Republic’s oppor¬ 
tunity is as noble as' its strength, and that 
opportunity is here. The Republic’s duty 
is as sacred as its opportunity is real, and 
Americans never desert their duty. 


The Republic could not retreat if it 
would ; whatever its destiny it must pro¬ 
ceed. For the American Republic is a part 
of the movement of a race—the most mas¬ 
terful race of history—and race movements 
are not 4 to be stayed by the hand of man. 
They are mighty answers to Divine com¬ 
mands. Their leaders are not only states¬ 
men of peoples—they are prophets of God. 
The inherent tendencies of a race are its 
highest law. They precede and survive all 
statutes, all constitutions. The first ques¬ 
tion real statesmanship asks is : What are 
the abiding characteristics of my people ? 
From that basis all reasoning may be 
natural and true. From any other basis all 
reasoning must be artificial and false. 

The sovereign tendencies of our race are 
organization and government. Organiza¬ 
tion means growth. Government means 
administration. When Washington pleaded 
with the States to organize into a con¬ 
solidated people, he was the advocate of 
perpetual growth. When Abraham Lin¬ 
coln argued for the indivisibility of the 
Republic he became the prophet of the 
Greater Republic. And when they did 
both they were but interpreters of the ten¬ 
dencies of the race. That is what made 
then Washington and Lincoln. They are 
the great Americans because they were the 
supreme constructors and conservers of 
organized government among the American 
people. 

God did not make the American people 
the mightiest human force of all time simply 
to feed and die. He did not give our race the 
brain of organization and heart of domain 
to no purpose and no end. No ; he has 
given us a task equal to our talents. He 
has appointed for us a destiny equal to our 
endowments. He has made us the Lords 
of civilization that we ma\r administer civ¬ 
ilization. Such administration is needed in 
Cuba. Such administration is needed in 
the Philippines. And Cuba and the Philip¬ 
pines are in our hands. 

All protests against the greater Repub¬ 
lic are tolerable except this constitutional 
objection. But they who resist the Repub¬ 
lic’s career in the name of the Constitution 
are not to be endured. They are jugglers 
of words. Their counsel is the wisdom of 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


247 


verbiage. They deal not with realities 
neither give heed to vital things. The 
most magnificent fact in history is the 
mighty movement and mission of our race, 
and the most splendid phase of that world- 
redeeming movement is the entrance of the 
American people as the greatest force in all 
the earth to do their part in administering 
civilization among mankind, and they are 
not to be halted by a ruck of words called 
constitutional arguments. Pretenders to 
legal learning have always denounced all 
virile interpretations of the Constitution. 

Let the Republic govern as conditions 
demand ; the Constitution does not benumb 
its brain nor palsy its hand. 

Imperialism is not the word for our 
vast work. Imperialism, as used by the 
opposers of the national greatness, means 
oppression, and we oppress not. Imperial¬ 
ism, as used by the opposers of national 
destiny, means monarchy, and the days ot 
monarchy are spent. Who honestly believes 
that the liberties of 80,000,000 Americans 
will be destroyed because the Republic 
administers civilization in the Philippines ? 
Wno honestly believes that free institutions 
are stricken unto death because the Repub¬ 
lic, under God, takes its place as the first 
power of the world ? Who honestly believes 
that we plunge to our doom, when we march 
forward in a path of duty, prepared by a 
higher wisdom than our own ? Those who 
so believe have lost their faith in the immor¬ 
tality of liberty. Those who so believe 
have lost the reckoning of events, and 
think it sunset when it is, in truth, only 
the breaking of another day—the day of 
the Greater Republic, dawning as dawns 
the twentieth century. 

The Republic never retreats. Its flag 
is the only flag that has never known defeat. 
Where the flag leads we follow, for we 
know that the hand that bears it onward is 
the unseen hand of God. We follow the 
flag and independence is ours. We follow 
the flag and nationality is ours. We follow 
the flag and oceans are ruled. We follow 
the flag and, in Occident and Orient 
tyranny falls and barbarism is subdued. 
We follow the flag at Trenton and Valley 
Forge, at Saratoga and upon the crimson 
seas, at Buena Vista and Chapuitepec, af 


Gettysburg and Missionary Ridge, at Sant¬ 
iago and Manila, and everywhere and 
always it means larger liberty, nobler 
opportunity and greater human happiness, 
for, everywhere and always, it means the 
blessings of the Greater Republic. And so 
God leads, we follow the flag, and the 
Republic never retreats. ’ ’ 


BOUND IN HONOR TO GRANT PHILIPPINE 
INDEPENDENCE. 

Extract from a speech delivered by Senator Hoar of Massa¬ 
chusetts in the United States Senate, Aprii, 1900. 

S enators, if there were no Constitution, 
if there were no Declaration of Inde¬ 
pendence, if there were no interna¬ 
tional law, if there were nothing but the 
history of the past two years, the American 
people would be bound in honor, if there 
be honor, bound in common honesty, if 
there be honesty, not to crush out this 
Philippine Republic, and not to wrest from 
this people its independence. The history 
of our dealing with the Philippine people 
is found in the reports of our commanders. 
It is all contained in our official documents, 
and in published statements of General 
Anderson and in the speeches of the Presi¬ 
dent. It is little known to the country 
to-day. When it shall be known, I believe 
it will cause a revolution in public senti¬ 
ment. 

There are 1200 islands in the Philippine 
group. They extend as far as from Maine 
to Florida. They have a population vari¬ 
ously estimated at from 8,000,000 to 
12,000,000. There are wild tribes who 
never heard of Christ, and islands that 
never heard of Spain. But among them 
are the people of the island of Luzon, 
numbering 3,500,000, and the people of the 
Visayau islands, numbering 2,500,000 more. 
They are a Christian and civilized people. 
They wrested their independence from 
Spain and established a republic. Their 
rights are no more to be affected by the few 
wild tribes in their own mountains or by the 
dwellers in the other islands than the rights 
of our old thirteen states were affected by 
the French in Canada, or the Six Nations 
of New York, or the Cherokees of Georgia, 
or the Indians west of the Mississippi 1 



248 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


Twice our commanding generals, by 
their own confession, assured these people 
of their independence. Clearly and beyond 
all cavil we formed an alliance with them. 
We expressly asked them to co-operate with 
us. We handed over our prisoners to their 
keeping ; we sought their help in caring for 
our sick and wounded. 

We were told by them again and again 
and again that they w r ere fighting for inde¬ 
pendence. Their purpose was as well 
known to our generals, to the war depart¬ 
ment, and to the president, as the fact that 
they were in arms. We never undeceived 
them until the time when hostilities were 
declared in 1899. The president declared 
again and again that we had no title and 
claimed no right to anything beyond the 
town of Manila. Hostilities were begun 
by us at a place where we had no right to 
be, and were continued by us in spite of 
Aguinaldo’s disavowal and regret and offer 
to withdraw to a line we should prescribe. 
If we crush that republic, despoil that 
people of their freedom and independence, 
and subject them to our rule, it will be a 
story of shame and dishonor. 

George F. Hoar. 


NO DISHONOR TO HAUL DOWN THE FLAG. 

(A Continuation of the Foregoing .) 

S there any man so bold as to utter in 
seriousness the assertion that where the 
American flag has once been raised it 
shall never be hauled down ? I have heard 
it said that to haul down or to propose to 
haul down this national emblem where 
it has once floated is poltroonery. Will 
any man say it was poltroonery when Paul 
Jones landed on the northeast coast of Eng¬ 
land that he took his flag away with him 
when he departed ? Was Scott a poltroon, 
or was Polk a poltroon? Was Taylor a 
poltroon ? Was the United States a nation 
of poltroons when they retired from the city 
of Mexico or from Vera Cruz without leav¬ 
ing the flag behind them ? Were we pol¬ 
troons when we receded from Canada ? If 
we had made the attack on the coast ot 
Spain, at one time contemplated during this 
very war, were we pledged to hold and gov¬ 
ern Spain forever or be disgraced in the eyes 


of mankind if we failed, to do it ? Has Eng¬ 
land been engaged in the course of poltroon¬ 
ery all these years when she has retired from 
many a field of victory ? According to this 
doctrine, she was bound to have held Bel¬ 
gium forever after the battle of Waterloo 
and Spain forever after Corunna and Tala- 
vera. She could not, of course, have retired 
with honor from Venezuela if the arbitration 
had not ended in her favor. 

Mr. President, this talk that the Ameri¬ 
can flag is never to be removed where it has 
once floated is the silliest and wildest rhe¬ 
torical flourish ever uttered in the ears of an 
excited populace. No baby ever said any¬ 
thing to another baby more foolish. It 
is the doctrine of purest ruffianism and 
tyranny. 

Certainly the flag should never be lowered 
from any moral field over which it has once 
waved. To follow the flag is to follow the 
principles of freedom and humanity for 
which it stands. To claim that we must 
follow it when it stands for injustice or 
oppression is like claiming that we must 
take the nostrums of the quack doctor who 
stamps it on his wares, or follow every 
scheme of wickedness or fraud, if only the 
flag be put at the head of the prospectus. 
The American flag is in more danger from 
the imperialists than it would be if the whole 
of Christendom were to combine its power 
against it. Foreign violence at worst could 
only rend it. But these men are trying to 
stain it. 

THE STARS in THEIR COURSES 
FIGHT AGAINST US. 

Mr. President, I know how imperfectly I 
have stated this argument. I know how 
feeble is a single voice amid this din and 
tempest, this delirium of empire. It may be 
that the battle of this day is lost. But I 
have an assured faith in the future. I have 
an assured faith in justice and the love of 
liberty of the American people. The stars 
in their courses fight for freedom. The 
ruler of the heavens is on that side. If the 
battle to-day go against it, I appeal to 
another day, not distant and sure to come. 
I appeal from the clapping of hands and 
the stamping of feet and the brawling and 
the shouting to the quiet chamber where the 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


2 49 


fathers gathered in Philadelphia. I appeal 
from the spirit of trade to the spirit of 
liberty. I appeal from the empire to the 
Republic. I appeal from the millionaire and 
the boss and the wire-puller and the mana¬ 
ger to the statesman of the older time, in 
whose eyes a guinea never glistened, who 
lived and died poor, and who left to his 
children and to his countrymen a good name 
far better than riches. I appeal from the 
present, bloated with material prosperity, 
drunk with the lust of empire, to another 
and a better age. I appeal from the present 
to the future and to the past. 

_G. F. Hoar. 

THE DYING CAPTAIN. 

An incident of the battle of San Juan Hill, Cuba, 1898. It 
requires considerable practice to perfect oneself in the proper 
expression in the quick transitions from consciousness to 
delirium, and the parts played in the two conditions. This 
selection is very effective when well rendered. 

t c T 3 RAVE captain ! canst thou speak ? 

J 3 What is it thou dost see ! 

A wondrous glory lingers on thy 
face, 

The night is past; I’ve watched the night 
with thee. 

Knowest thou the place?” 

“ The place? ’Tis San Juan, comrade. Is 
the battle over ? 

The victory—the victory—is it won ? 
My wound is mortal; I know I cannot 
recover— 

The battle for me is done ! 

“I never thought it would come to this! 
Does it rain ? 

The musketry ! Give me a drink ; ah, 
that is glorious ! 

Now if it were not for this pain—this 
pain— 

Didst thou say victorious ? 

“ It would not be strange, would it, if I 
do wander ? 

A man can’t remember with a bullet 
in his brain. 

I wish when at home I had been a little 
fonder— 

Shall I ever be well again ? 

M It can make no difference whether I go 
from here or there. 


Thou’It write to father and tell him 
when I am dead ?— 

The eye that sees the sparrow fall numbers 
every hair 

Even of this poor head. 

“Tarry awhile, comrade, the battle can 
wait for thee; 

I will try to keep thee but a few brief 
moments longer; 

Thou’It say good-by to the friends at 
home for me ?— 

If only I were a little stronger ! 

“ I must not think of it. Thou art sorry 
for me ? 

The glory—is it the glory ?—makes me 
blind; 

Strange, for the light, comrade, the light 
I cannot see— 

Thou hast been very kind ! 

“ I do not think I have done so very much 
evil— 

I did not mean it. ‘I lay me down to 
sleep, 

I pray the Lord my soul ’—-just a little 
rude and uncivil— 

Comrade, why dost thou weep ? 

“Oh! if human pity is so gentle and 
tender— 

Good-night, good friends ! ‘ I lay me 

down to sleep ’— 

Who from a Heavenly Father’s love 
needs a defender ? 

‘ My soul to keep! * 

“ * If I should die before I wake ’—comrade, 
tell mother, 

Remember—‘ I pray the Lord my soul 
to take! ’ 

My musket thou’It carry back to my little 
brother 

For my dear sake ! 

“Attention, company! Reverse arms! 
Very well, men ; my thanks. 

Where am I ? Do I wander, comrade— 
wander again ?— 

Parade is over. Company E, break ranks ! 
break ranks!— 

I know it is the pain, 



250 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


•‘Give me tliy strong liand; fain would 
I cling, comrade, to thee ; 

I feel a chill air blown from a far-off 
shore; 

My sight revives ; Death stands and looks 
at me. 

What waits he for ? 

“ Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be 
bolder grown ; 

I would know something of the Silent 
Land; 

It’s hard to struggle to the front alone— 
Comrade, thy hand. 

“ The reveille calls! be strong my soul, 
and peaceful; 

The Eternal City bursts upon my sight! 

The ringing air with ravishing melody is 
full— 

I ’ve won the fight! 

“ Nay, comrade, let me go ; hold not my 
hand so steadfast; 

I am commissioned—under marching 
orders— 

I know the future—let the past be past— 
I cross the borders .” 


THE LAND OF OUR FOREFATHERS. 

or myself, I can truly say that, after 
my native land, I feel a tenderness and 
a reverence for that of my fathers. 
The pride I take in my own country makes 
me respect that from which we are sprung. 
The sound of my native language beyond 
the sea is a music to my ears beyond the 
richest strains of Tuscan softness or Castil¬ 
ian majesty. 

I am not—I need not say I am not—the 
panegyrist of England. I am not dazzled 
by her riches nor awed by her power. The 
sceptre, the mitre and the coronet, stars, 
garters and ribbons, seem to me poor things 
for great men to contend for. 

But England is the cradle and the refuge 
of free principles, though often persecuted ; 
the school of religious liberty, the more 
precious for the struggles through which it 
has passed; she holds the tombs of those 
who have reflected honor on all who speak 
the English tongue; she is the birthplace 


of our fathers, the home of the Pilgrims ; it 
is these which I love and venerate in Eng¬ 
land. 

I should feel ashamed of an enthusiasm 
for Italy and Greece did I not also feel it 
fora land like this. In an American it would 
seem to me degenerate and ungrateful to 
hang with passion upon the traces of Homer 
and Virgil and follow without emotion the 
nearer and plainer footsteps of Shakespeare 
and Milton. I should think him cold in 
love for his native land who felt no melting 
in his heart for that other native country 
which holds the ashes of his forefathers. 

Edward Everett. 


WAR THE GAHE OF TYRANTS. 

H ark ! heard j^ou not those hoofs of 
dreadful note ? 

Sounds not the clang of conflict on 
the heath ? 

Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote, 
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank 
beneath 

Tyrants and tyrants’ slaves?—The fires 
of death, 

The bale-fires flash on high :—from rock to 
rock, 

Each volley tells that thousands cease to 
breathe ; 

Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 

Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel 
the shock ! 

Lo ! where the giant on the mountain 
stands, 

His blood-red tresses deepening in the 
sun, 

With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 
And eye that scorcheth all it glares 
upon ; 

Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now 
anon 

Flashing afar,—and at his iron feet 

Destruction cowers to mark what deeds 
are done ; 

For, on this morn, three potent nations 
meet 

To shed before his shrine the blood he 
deems most sweet* 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


251 


Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice ; 

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on 
high ; 

Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue 
skies; 

The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, 
Victory ! 

The foe, the victim, and the fond al-ly' 

That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, 

Are met—as if at home they could not 
die— 

To feed the crow on Tal-a-ve'ra’s plain, 

And fertilize the field that each pretends to 
gain. 

There shall they rot—ambition’s honored 
fools ! 

Yes, honor decks the turf that wraps 
their clay ! 

Vain sophistry ! in these behold the tools, 

The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 

By myriads, when they dare to pave their 
way 

With human hearts—to what?—a dream 
alone. 

Can despots compass aught that hails 
xheir sway ? 

Or call with truth one span of earth their 
own, 

Save that wherein at last they crumble 
bone by bone ? Byron. 


VALLEY FORGE. 

Suitable to Washington's Birthday or Any Patri¬ 
otic Entertainment. 

The following oration was delivered upon the occasion of the 
first Centennial Anniversary of the encampment at Valley Forge. 

M y countrymen, the century that has 
gone by has changed the face of 
nature and wrought a revolution in 
the habits of mankind. We stand to-day at 
the dawn of an extraordinary age. Freed 
from the chains of ancient thought and 
superstition, man has begun to win the most 
extraordinary victories in the domain of 
science. One by one he has dispelled the 
doubts of the ancient world. Nothing is too 
difficult for his hand to attempt—no region 
too remote—no place too sacred for his dar¬ 
ing eye to penetrate. He has robbed the 
earth of her secrets and sought to solve the 
mysteries of the heavens. He has secured 
and chained to Lis service the elemental 


forces of nature—he has made the fire his 
steed—the winds his ministers—the seas his 
pathway—the lightning his messenger. He 
has decended into the bowels of the earth, 
and walked in safety on the bottom of the 
sea. He has raised his head above the 
clouds, and made the impalpable air his 
resting-place. Fie has tried to analyze the 
stars, count the constellations, and weigh 
the sun. He has advanced ' with such 
astounding speed that, breathless, we have 
reached a moment when it seems as if dis¬ 
tance had been annihilated, time made as 
naught, the invisible seen, the inaudible 
heard., the unspeakable spoken, the intangi¬ 
ble felt, the impossible accomplished. And 
already we knock at the door of a new cen¬ 
tury which promises to be infinitely brighter 
and more enlightened and happier than this. 
But in all this blaze of light which illumi¬ 
nates the present and casts its reflection into 
the distant recesses of the past, there is not 
a single ray which shoots into the future. 
Not one step have we taken toward the solu¬ 
tion of the mystery of life. That remains as 
dark and unfathomable as it was ten thous¬ 
and years ago. 

We know that we are more fortunate than 
our fathers. We believe that our children 
shall be happier than we. We know that 
this century is more enlightened than the 
last. We believe that the time to come will 
be better and more glorious than this. 
We think, we believe, we hope, but we do 
not know. Across that threshold we may 
not pass; behind that veil we may not pene¬ 
trate. Into that country it may not be for 
us to go. It may be vouchsafed to us to 
behold it, wonderingly, from afar, but never 
to enter in. It matters not. The age in 
which we live is but a link in the endless and 
eternal chain. Our lives are like the sands 
upon the shore; our voices like the breath 
of this summer breeze that stirs the leaf for 
a moment and is forgotten. Whence we 
have come and whither we shall go, not one 
of us can tell. And the last survivor of 
this mighty multitude shall stay but a little 
while. 

But in the impenetrable To Be, the end¬ 
less generations are advancing to take our 
places as we fall. For them as ior us shall 
the earth roll on and the seasons come and 





252 


PATRIOTISM AND WAP 


go, the snowflakes fall, the flowers bloom, 
and the harvests be gathered in. For them 
as for ns shall the sun, like the life of man, 
rise out of darkness in the morning and sink 
into darkness in the night. For them as for 
us shall the years march by in the sublime 
procession of the ages. And here, in this 
place of sacrifice, in this vale of humiliation, 
in this valley of the shadow of that Death 
out of which the life of America arose, 
regenerate and free, let us believe with an 
abiding faith that, to them, union will seem 
as dear, and libertj^ as sweet, and progress 
as glorious, as they were to our fathers and 
are to you and me, and that the institutions 
which have made us happy, preserved by 
the virtue of our children, shall bless the 
remotest generations of the time to come. 
And unto Him who holds in the hollow of 
His hand the fate of nations, and yet marks 
the sparrow’s fall, let us lift up our hearts 
this day, and into His eternal care commend 
ourselves, our children, and our country. 

H. A. Brown. 

THE MAN WHO DOES THE CHEERIN’. 

his war wfith Spain reminds me o’ the 
spring o’ ’61, 

About the time or jist afore the Civil 
War begun ; 

A certain class o’ heroes ain’t remembered 
in this age, 

Yit their names in golden letters should be 
writ on histry’s page. 

Their voices urged on others to save this oF 
country’s fall; 

I admit they never listened when they heerd 
Abe Lincoln’s call; 

They never heerd a eagle scream er heerd a 
rifle crack, 

But you bet they done the cheerin’ 

When the troops come back. 

O’ course it’s glorious to fight when free¬ 
dom is at stake, 

I ’low a feller likes to know that he hez 
helped to make 

Another star in freedom’s sky—the star o’ 
Cuby—free ! 

But still another feelin’ creeps along o’ that 
when he 

Gits to thinkin’ o’ the home he left en 
seem’ it at night. 


Dancin’ slowlike up aroim’ him in a misty 
maze o’ light. 

En a-ketchin’ fleetin’ glimpses of a crowd 
along the track, 

En the man who does the cheerin’ 

When the troops come back. 

O’ course a soldier hez got feelin’s en his 
heart begins to beat 

Faster, ez ol’ reckollection leads him down 
some shady street 

Where he knows a gal’s a-waitin’ under¬ 
neath a creepin’ vine, 

Where the sun is kinder cautious ’bout 
combatin’ with the shine 

In her eyes—en jist anuther thing that 
nuther you er I 

Could look at with eas} 7 " feelin’s is a piece o’ 
pumpkin pie 

That hez made our mothers famous—-but 
down there along the track 

Is the man who does the cheerin’ 

When the troops come back. 

It’s jist the same in war times ez in com¬ 
mon ev’ry day, 

When a feller keeps a-strugglin’ en a-peg' 
gin’ on his way, 

He likes to hev somebody come and grab 
him by the hand, 

En say: “OF boy, you’ll git there yit; 
you’ve got the grit en sand.’’ 

It does him good, en I ’low that it does a 
soldier, too ; 

Bo even if the feller at the track don’t wear 
the blue, 

He’s helped save bleedin’ Cuby from the 
tyrants en their rack 

By leadin’ in the cheerin’ 

When the troops come back. 

Edward Singer, 


TO THE FLYING SQUADRON. 

IERCE flock of sea gulls, with huge 
wings of white, 

Tossed on the treacherous blue, 
Poising your pinions in majestic flight— 
Our hearts take voyage with you. 

God save us from w r ar’s terrors ! May they 
cease ! 

And yet one fate, how worse! 






PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


253 


A bloodless, perjured, prostituting peace, 

Glutting a coward’s purse ! 

Oh, if yon beaks and talons clutch and 
cling 

Far in the middle seas 
With those of hostile war birds, wing to 
wing— 

Our hearts shall fight with these. 

God speed you! Never fared crusading 
knight 

On holier quest than ye— 

Sworn to the rescue of the trampled right, 

Sworn to make Cuba free ! 

Yea, swiftly to avenge our martyred 
“ Maine,” 

I watch you curve and wheel 
In horrible grace of battle—scourge of 
Spain, 

Birds with the beaks of steel! 


SONG FOR OUR FLEETS. 

song for our fleets—our iron fleets, 

Of grim and savage beauty, 

That plow their way through fields 
of spray 
To follow a nation’s duty ! 

The winds may blow and the waves may 
flow 

And stars may hide their faces, 

But we little reck, our stars o’er deck 
Still glitter within their places, 

Let never a one who gazes on 
This pageant, calm and splendid, 

Doubt that our coasts from hostile hosts 
Will gallantly be defended ! 

A desperate foe may wish us woe, 

But what is their petty knavery 
Against the right, when backed by might 
And Anglo-Saxon bravery ? 

A song for our fleets—our gallant fleets, 
’Neath flags of glory flying, 

That carry the aid, so long delayed, 

To those that are crushed and dying ! 
And flames may glow, and blood may flow, 
But, still with a stern endeavor, 

We’ll rule the main, and lash foul Spain 
From our western world forever ! 

Will Carllton. 


PICTURE OF WAR. 

S pirit of light and life ! when battle 
rears 

Her fiery brow and her terrific spears ! 
When red-mouthed cannon to the clouds 
uproar, 

And gasping thousands make their beds in 
gore, 

While on the billowy bosom of the air 
Roll the dead notes of anguish and des¬ 
pair ! 

Unseen, thou walk’st on the smoking plain, 
And hear’st each groan that gurgles from 
the slain ! 

Fist! war peals thunder on the battlefield, 
And many a hand grasps firm the glitter¬ 
ing shield, 

As on, with helm and plume, the warriors 
come, 

And the glad hills repeat their stormy drum ! 
And now are seen the youthful and the 
gray, 

With bosoms firing to partake the fray ; 

The first with hearts that consecrate the 
deed, 

All eager rush to vanquish or to bleed ! 

Tike young waves racing in the morning 
sun, 

That rear and leap with reckless fury on ! 

But mark yon war-worn man, who looks on 
high, 

With thought and valor mirrored in his 
eye ! 

Not all the gory revels of the day 
Can fright the vision of his home away ; 

The home of love, and its associate smiles, 
His wife’s endearment, and his baby’s 
wiles: 

Fights he less brave through recollected 
bliss, 

With step retreating, or with sword remiss ? 
Ah no ! remembered home’s the warrior’s 
charm, 

Speed to his sword, and vigor to his arm ; 

For this he supplicates the God afar, 

Fronts the steeled foe, and mingles in the 
war ! 

The cannon’s hushed!—nor drum, noi 
clarion sound : 

Helmet and hauberk gleam upon tli* 
ground : 




254 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


Horsemen and horse lie weltering in their 
gore ; 

Patriots are dead, and heroes dare no 
more; 

While solemnly the moonlight shrouds the 
plain, 

And lights the lurid features of the slain ! 

And see ! on this rent mound, where daisies 
sprung, 

A battle steed beneath his rider flung ; 

Oh ! never more he’ll rear with fierce 
delight, 

Roll his red eyes, and rally for the fight! 
Pale on his bleeding breast the warrior 
lies, 

While from his ruffled lids the white- 
swelled eyes 

Ghastly and grimly stare upon the skies l 

Afar, with bosom bared unto the breeze, 
White lips, and glaring eyes, and shivering 
knees, 

A widow o’er her martyred soldier moans, 
Reading the night-winds with delirious 
groans! 

Her blue-eyed babe, unconscious orphan 
he! 

So sweetly prattling in his cherub glee, 
Leers on his lifeless sire with infant wile, 
And plays and plucks him for a parent’s 
smile ! 

But who, upon the battle-wasted plain, 
Shall count the faint, the gasping and the 
slain ? 

Angel of Menw ! ere the blood-fount chill, 
And the brave heart be spiritless and still, 
Amid the havoc thou art hovering nigh, 

To calm each groan, and close each dying 
eye, 

And waft the spirit to that halcyon shore, 
Where war’s loud thunders lash the winds 
no more! 

Robert Montgomery. 


BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. 

A splendid selection for the portrayal of varying emotions of sup- 
lication, delight, filial veneration, horror, humiliation, grief, 
atred, defiance and resignation. 

T he warrior bowed his crested head, and 
tamed his heart of fire, 

And sued the hearty king to free his 
long-imprisoned sire: 


‘ ‘ I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring 
my captive train, 

I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord !—oh, 
break my father’s chain ! ” 

“Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes a 
ransomed man, this day : 

Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will 
meet him on his way.” 

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded 
on his steed, 

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the 
charger’s foamy speed. 

And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there 
came a glittering band, 

With one that ’midst them stately rode, as 
a leader in the land ; ^ 

“ Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in 
very truth, is he, 

The father whom thy faithful heart hath 
yearned so long to see.” 

His dark eye flash’d, his proud breast heav’d, 
his cheek’s blood came and went; 

He reached that gray-haired chieftain’s side, 
and there, dismounting, bent; 

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father’s 
hand he took,— 

What was there in its touch that all his 
fiery spirit shook ? 

That hand was cold—a frozen thing—it 
dropped from his like lead ; 

He looked up to the face above—the face 
was of the dead ! 

A plume waved o’er the noble brow—the 
brow was fixed and white ; 

He met at last his father’s eyes—but in 
them was no sight! 

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, 
but who could paint that gaze ? 

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its 
horror and amaze; 

They might have chained him, as before 
that stony form he stood, 

For the power was stricken from his arm, 
and from his lip the blood. 

“Father!” at length he murmured low, 
and wept like childhood then— 

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears 
of warUke men !— 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


255 


He thought on all his glorious hopes, and 
all his young renown,— 

He flung his falchion from his side, and in 
the dust sat down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands 
his darkly mournful brow, 

“ No more, there is no more,” he said, “ to 
lift the sword for now.— 

My king is false, my hope betrayed, my 
father—oh ! the worth, 

The glory and the loveliness are passed 
away from earth ! 

“ I thought to stand where banners waved, 
my sire ! beside thee yet— 

I would that there our kindred blood on 
Spain’s free soil had met ! 

Thou wouldst have known my spirit then 
—for thee my fields were won,— 
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as 
though thou hadst no son ! ” 

Then, starting from the ground once more, 
he seized the monarch’s rein, 

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all 
the courtier train ; 

And with a fierce, o’ermastering grasp, the 
rearing war horse led, 

And sternly set them face to face—the king 
before the dead !— 

“Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my 
father’s hand to kiss ?— 

Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and 
tell me what is this ! 

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought— 
give answer, where are they ?— 

^-If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, 
send life through this cold clay ! 

“ Into these glassy eyes put light—Be still! 

keep down thine ire,— 

Bid these white lips a blessing speak—this 
earth is not my sire ! 

Give me back him for whom I strove, for 
whom my blood was shed,— 

Thou canst not—and a king ! His dust be 
mountains on thy head ! ’ ’ 

He loosed the steed ; his slack hand fell— 
upon the silent face 

He cast one long, deep, troubled look—then 
turned from that sad place ; 


His hope was crushed, his after fate untold 
in martial strain,— 

His banner led the spears no more, amidst 
the hills of Spain. 

Felicia D. IIemans. 


THE ROMAN SENTINEL. 

*'In the excavations made by the government authorities to 
restore the ancient city of Pompeii, the workmen discovered the 
bones of a Roman soldier in the sentry box .at one of the city’s 
gates. As rocks of shelter were near at hand, and escape from 
the volcano’s fiery deluge thus rendered possible, the supposition 
is that this brave sentinel chose to meet death, rather than desert 
his post of duty.” 

T he morning sun rose from his crimson 
couch 

In the Orient-land, and bathed the 
world 

In golden showers of refreshing light: 

With orange and with jasmine the gardens 
Of Pompeii were beautiful and fragrant; 
The gray rocks, robed and crowned with 
vines and flowers, 

Were lulled to sleep upon the bosom of 
the Bay. 

The merchant ships and pleasure boats 
lay still 

And lifeless—or, drifting aimlessly between 
The blue of the skies and the blue of the 
the sea. 

Sailing away on silvery pinions, 

A pair of cloud-lovers, with cheeks of pearl, 
Blushed to discover, in the sea below, 

Their mirrored images. The distant isles 
Answered back smiles of happy contentment 
To voices calling from the mainland shores. 
The hazy air, mild and calm, wrapped 
this proud 

Old Italian city in a mantle 
Of deamful repose. On her streets the tramp 
Of feet, now and then, broke the lazy quiet— 
Some bought, some sold, some danced, some 
played, some slept; 

And each one went about his daily work,j 
Nor dreamed of danger near. 

At a gate commanding entrance to Pompeii 
Was placed a trusty sentinel. His tall, 
Erect and warlike stature told a tale 
Of dauntless courage. Proud of the 
faith and 

Confidence placed in his loyal heart, 

The sentinel’s eyes shone like brilliant stars-* 




256 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


His trumpet, sword and buckler hung about 
His frame with airy lightness, while his face, 
His bearing and his every action 
Proclaimed in terms and force significant— 
“ Here stands a Roman soldier S' 

While pacing to and fro his measured beat, 
And dreaming dreams of long expected 
honors, 

There comes, beneath him, a strange quick 
movement! 

He stops—waits—listens. Ah, it comes 

again ! 

Then he knows the awful truth—-an 
earthquake, 

That dreadful harbinger of volcanic 
Action! A third time, and the ground 
doth heave 

Like ocean billows ! Up, through evr’y vein 
The soldier’s blood darts with freezing 
torture ! 

He looks towards the Bay,—it boils and 
struggles 

In its mad contention, lashing itself 
As it lashes the shore ! He lifts his trumpet 
And sounds a loud alarm! Back from 
the throat 

Of great Vesuvius returns the answer,— 

A rumble, rumble, rumble, like distant 
Artillery ! Volumes of smoke, dense and 
Gigantic, roll from the maddened crater ! 
Daylight ceases! no sun! no moon! 
no stars ! 

Now dreadful, appaling, and magnificent 
Blazes the weird, Plutonian candle ! 

The ground heaves! It rocks again! 
The waters 

Leap beyond their shores ! See—the giant 
mountain 

Trembles! Then one long, unnatural, 
roaring 

Peal of wild volcanic thunder, and the 
Fiery lakes of hell are hurled, seething, 
Into the clouds above ! Sound the danger 
Signals ! Rouse the thoughtless people ! 
Fly ! fiy ! 

Fly for your lives ! Too late ! too late ! 
forever 

Too late ! A molton sea of liquid fire 
Pours down upon the fated city ! 

Ghastly imps, the spectres of ruin, gloat 
Above the hissing surges l Now a rain 


Of red-hot ashes, stones, and cinders falls 
Thick and fast for miles around! In 
the sreets, 

In their shops, in their homes that 
startled mass 

Of poor humanity is suddenly 
Clasped in the arms of unexpected death ! 
Old age, manhood, bouyant youth, and 
helpless 

Infancy all, all at once are buried 
’Neath the burning fury of that awful 
Avalanche! 

When the pent up ire 
Of grim Vesuvius had burst its massive 
Prison bars, the soldier thought: “What 
shall 

I do ? To yon projecting rock I quick 
Can fiy and safety find ! But can I thus 
betray 

My sacred trust and win the name of 
coward ? 

Is life a gem worth such a price to me ? 
Could ev’r again these Roman lips repeat 
The name my father bore ? No! no! 
no ! here ! 

Here will I stand ; so let the fiends of hell 
Exhaust their utmost fury! Trumpet, 
sound 

My challenge bold ! Ye heavens, wear 
your blackest face ! 

Volcano, hurl your wildest fires! For 
though 

I choke—I burn—I sink—I die—yet ne’er 
Will I forsake my post of duty !” 

Seventeen 

Hundred years rolled by ere again the light 
Of day shone on the buried city ; 

Then excavation broke the seals which held 
The solemn secret. Two hundred thousand 
Skulls and more were found entombed 
beneath 

The ashes. Every stone and piece of metal 
Lifted from the ancient ruins, told o’er 
And o’er the horrors of that dark eruption. 
At his post the sentinels bones had kept 
Their long and ghastly vigil. As in life 
So e’en in death, the sacred trust was not 
Deserted. 


Ward M. Florence. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


257 


PROPHETIC TOAST TO COMMODORE 

DEWEY. 

In November, 1897, at the suggestion ot the Assistant Secretary 
•f the Navy, - i heodore Roosevelt, George Dewey was made a 
Commodore and ordered to take charge ot the Asiatic squadron, 
which afterwards destroyed the Spanish fleet at Manila. Dewey 
was a popular member of the Metropolitan Club, Washington, 
and just before his departure a reception was given at which the 
following toast was offered and received with enthusiasm. In the 
light of later events, it has been regarded as a happy prophecy, 
the fulfillment of which entitles the ines to preservation. 

F ILL all your glasses full to-night; 

The wind is off the shore ; 

And be it feast or be it fight, 

We pledge the Commodore. 

Through days of storm, through days of 
calm, 

On broad Pacific Seas, 

At anchor off the Isles of Palm, 

Or with the Japanese ; 

Ashore, afloat, on deck, below, 

Or where our bulldogs roar, 

To back a friend or breast a foe 
We pledge the Commodore. 

We know our honor’ll be unstained, 
Where’er his pennant flies ; 

Our rights respected and maintained, 
Whatever power defies. 

And when he takes the homeward tack, 
Beneath an admiral’s flag, 

We’ll hail the day that brings him back, 
And have another jag. 

THE BATTLE OF MANILA BAY. 

T break of dawn Manila Bay 
A sheet of limpid water lay, 
Extending twenty miles away. 

Twenty miles from shore to shore, 

As creeping on a squadron bore 
As squadron never moved before. 

Majestic in his hidden might, 

It passed Corregidor at night, 

Inspired to battie for the right. 

And grandly on the flagship led, 

Six ships—Olympia e’er ahead— 

With battle flags at each masthead 

The Baltimore and Raleigh true, 

The Petrel, Boston, Concord, too, 

Their flags of glory proudly flew. 

17U 


As early daylight broke upon 
The bay—before the rise of sun— 

Was seen the flash of opening gunl 

Then every second heard the roar 
Of shell and shrapnel bursting o’er 
Our brave, undaunted Commodore 1 

“ Hold our fire ! ” he calmly said, 

As from the bridge he bravely led 
To death or glory on ahead ! 

And from his lips or from his hand 
But one direction, one command, 

“ Follow the flagship by the land,” 

Full twenty minutes slowly crept 
Ere lightning from our turrets leapt, 

And pent-up hell no longer slept ! 

The Spanish fleet, a dozen strong, 

Was now in range, and haughty wrong 
Was swept by awful fire along. 

Explosions wild destruction brought 
’Mid flames that mighty havoc wrought, 

As either side in fury fought. 

So back and forth in angry might, 

The Stars and Stripes waved on the fight, 
’Mid bursting shells in deadly flight! 

The Spanish decks with dead were strewn, 
Their guns on shore were silenced soon, 
Their flags were down ere flush of noon. 

Their ships, their batteries on the shore 
Were gone to fight again no more— 

Their loss, a thousand men or more ! 

Dawned on the fleet that Dewey led 
A miracle, while Spaniards bled ; 

For on our side was not one dead ! 

The battle of Manila Bay 

From mind shall never pass away— 

Nor deeds of glory wrought that day. 

For ’mid the battle’s awful roar 
The Spanish pride, to rise no more 
Was humbled by our Commodore. 

Corwin P Ross. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


258 


HEROIC EXAMPLE HAS POWER. 

W S must not forget the specific and 
invaluable influence exerted on the 
spirit of a people by those examples 
of signal heroism and chivalrous devotion 
for which a magnanimous war gives occa¬ 
sion, and which it exalts, as peace cannot, 
before men’s minds. 

Almost five centuries ago, under the 
tumbling walls of Sempach, where Leopold 
stood with four thousand Austrians to crush 
the fourteen hundred Swiss who dared to 
confront him, one, springing upon the foe 
with wide-spread arms, gathered into his 
breast a sheaf of spears, and made a way 
above his body for that triumphant valor 
which pierced and broke the horrict ranks, 
and set a new and bloody seal to the right¬ 
ful autonomy of the mountain republic. 
The hardy Switzers will not forget the 
daring deed and magic name of Arnold 
von Winkelried ! 

Before Herodotus wrote his history, be¬ 
fore Nenemiah rebuilt Jerusalem, before 
Cincinnatus was dictator at Rome, under 
the shadow of Mount JEtna y a thousand 
men, Spartans and Thespians, fell, to a 
man, unwilling to retreat before the in¬ 
vader. It is not even irreverent to say, 
that, save one cross, beneath which Earth 
herself did shiver, no other hath lifted its 
head so high, or flung its arms so wide 
abroad to scatter inspiring influence, as did 
that cross on which the Persian nailed, in 
fury, the dead Leonidas ! * * * 

Such examples as these become powers 
in civilization. History hurries from the 
drier details, and is touched with enthusi¬ 
asm as she draws near to them. Eloquence 
delights to rehearse and impress them! 
The songs of a nation repeat their story, 
and make their triumph sound again 
through the silver cymbals of speech. 
Legends prolong and art commemorates 
them. Language itself takes new images 
from them ; and words, that are themselves 
“half battles,” are suddenly born at their 
recital. The very household life is exalted ; 
and the humblest feels his position higher, 
and expresses his sense of it in a more 
dauntless bearing, as he sees that heroism 
still lives in the world; that men of his 
own race and stuff, perhaps of his own 


neighborhood, even, have faced, so calmly, 
such vast perils. 

Richard Saltkr Storrs, Jr. (1863.) 


INTERNATIONAL SYMPATHIES ON THE 

INCREASE. 

n many respects, the nations of Chris¬ 
tendom, collectively, are becoming 
somewhat analogous to our own Fed¬ 
eral republic. Antiquated distinctions are 
breaking away, and local animosities are 
subsiding. The common people of differ¬ 
ent countries are knowing each other better, 
esteeming each other more, and attaching 
themselves to each other, by various mani¬ 
festations of reciprocal good will. It is 
true, every nation has still its separate 
boundaries and its individual interests; 
but the freedom of commercial intercourse 
is allowing those interests to adjust them¬ 
selves to each other, and thus rendering 
the causes of collision of vastly less frequent 
occurrence. Local questions are becoming 
of less, and general questions of greater, 
importance. Thanks be to God, men have 
at last begun to understand the rights, and 
feel for the wrongs, of each other ! Moun¬ 
tains interposed, do not so much make 
enemies of nations. Let the trumpet of 
alarm be sounded, and its notes are now 
heard by every nation, whether of Europe 
or America. Let a voice borne on the 
feeblest breeze tell that the rights of man 
are in danger, and it floats over valley and 
mountain, across continent and ocean, until 
it has vibrated on the ear of the remotest 
dweller in Christendom. Let the arm of 
Oppression be raised to crush the feeblest 
nation on earth, and there will be heard 
everywhere, if not the shout of defiance, at 
least the deep-toned murmur of implacable 
displeasure. It is the cry of aggrieved, 
insulted, much-abused man. It is human 
nature waking in her might from the slum¬ 
ber of ages, shaking herself from the dust 
of antiquated institutions, girding herself 
for the combat, and going forth conquering 
and to conquer; and woe unto the man, 
woe unto the dynasty, woe unto the party, 
and woe unto the policy, on whom shall 
fall the scath of her blighting indignation 1 

Francis W a yd and. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


259 


WASHINGTON’S BIRTHDAY. 

o-day our George of hatchet fame 
Reminds us of his birth ; 

He left a loved and honored name, 
Revered o’er all the earth. 

He nursed the germs of liberty 
That bore us priceless fruit,— 
Declared that nature made us free— 
No king should persecute. 

To-day we rank among the nations 
In power, wealth and fame ; 

No longer seeking approbation 
And bear an honored name. 

Now science, art and invention 
Are our genial friends ; 

Education has attention 
Adapting means to ends. 

In enterprise we lead all nations, 

To Uncle Sam all bow ; 

Daily reaching higher stations : 

We are not beggars now. 

Gold, the polar star of power 
Is near its zenith now— 
Accumulating ev’ry hour 

From furnace, loom and plow. 

Humanity must intercede 

To check this growing power— 

To limit selfishness and greed 
That make the feeble cower. 

Some politicians doubt the tale 
About the cherry tree, 

But recognize behind the veil 
His love of liberty. 

John Bacheeder, In The Progress 

THE HOME VOYAGE. 

A tribute to the memory of General H. W. Lawton, on the 
Coming home of his dead body. 

Bear with us, O great captain, if our pride 
Shows equal measure with our griefs 
excess 

In greetingyou in this your helplessness, 
To countermand our vanity and hide 

Your stern displeasure that we thus had 
tried 

To praise you, knowing praise was your 
distress, 

But this home-coming swells our hearts 
no less,— 


Because for love of home you proudly died. 
Do, then?—The cable, fathoms ’neath 
the keel— 

That shapes your course, is eloquent of you ; 
The old flag, too, at half mast overhead— 

We doubt not that its gale-kissed ripples 
feel 

A prouder sense of red and white and 
blue— 

The stars—Ah, God: Were they inter¬ 
preted. 

In strange lands were your latest honors 
won— 

In strange wilds, with strange dangers all 
beset; 

With rain, like tears, the face of day was 
wet, 

As rang the ambushed foeman’s fatal gun— 
And as you felt your final duty done, 

We feel, that glory thrills your spirit yet, 
When at the front, in swiftest death, you 
met, 

The patriots doom and best reward in one. 
And so the tumult of that island-war ; 

At last, for you, is stilled forevermore— 

Its scenes of blood blend white as ocean- 
foam 

On your rapt vision as you sight afar 

The sails of peace : and from that alien 
shore, 

The proud ship bears you on your voyage 
home. 

Or rough or smooth the wave, or lowering 
day, 

Or starlight sky—you hold, by native right, 
Your high tranquility—the silent might 

Of the true hero.—So you led the way 
To victory through the stormiest battle- 
fray, 

Because your followers, high above the fight 
Heard your soul’s slight whisper bid 
them smile 

For God and man and space to kneel and 
pray. 

And thus you cross the seas into your own 

Beloved land, convoyed with honors meet 
Saluted as your home’s first heritage— 

Nor salutation from your state alone, 

But all the states, gathered in mighty fleet 

Dip colors as you move to anchorage. 

James Whitcomb RieKY in The Progress. 






2 bo 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


THE DEATH OF QUEEN VICTORIA. 

ENTLEMEN, it is not my intention to take 
tip your time with a long speech. 
Many words cannot assuage grief. The 
Sovereign who has fallen under the inevita¬ 
ble sickle is one whose memory is treasured 
in all lands, even where the Christian re¬ 
ligion is not taught and the English lan¬ 
guage is not heard. She has expired almost 
with the century she did so much to adorn. 
She has given to history the name of the 
most brilliant of its eras. She is one of the 
three Queens who have given their names to 
as many great eras of English history, and 
by the universal accord of humanity and 
history it is acknowledged that our late 
lamented Sovereign stands the highest. 
She has left to her statesmen a memory of 
wise and silent counsels. She has left to 
her successor an aggrandized and compact 
realm. She has left all peoples the inherit¬ 
ance of her virtues. 

Within her reign have been concentrated 
glories of every kind that can adorn the his¬ 
tory of a kingdom or magnify the lustre of 
a throne. In arms, in literature, in science, 
in the progress of civilization, what era can 
hold its torch with this ? The era is almost 
contemporaneous with the century, and her 
character attaches to it in a pre-eminent 
degree. After the death of a great Roman 
Emperor, the augurs descried a portent in 
the sky, and deduced that it was the ascend¬ 
ing star of the great Julius. We believe in 
no portents or miraculous phenomena, but 
in our hearts there shall rise the purified 
and ever-shining star of a virtuous and glori¬ 
fied memory. 

Oliver A. Howland, K. C., 
January 23,1901. Mayor of Toro?ito. 


*THE LIFE AND REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA. 

E have met under the shadow of a 
death which has caused more uni¬ 
versal mourning than has ever been 
recorded in the pages of history. In these 
words there is no exaggeration ; they are 
literal truth. There is mourning in the 
United Kingdom, in the colonies, and in the 

* For convenieneethis oration and a few others are divided 
into sections and may be used altogether for one selection, or 
thev mav be used by parts when shorter selections are desired. 
•-tEDIXOR.J 


many islands and continents which form the 
great empire over which extend the sover¬ 
eignty of Queen Victoria. There is mourn¬ 
ing deep, sincere, heartfelt in the mansions 
of the great, and of the rich, and in the cot¬ 
tages of the poor and lowly ; for to all her 
subjects, whether high or low, whether rich 
or poor, the Queen, in her long reign, had 
become an object of almost sacred veneration. 

There is sincere and unaffected regret in 
all of the nations of Europe ; for all the na¬ 
tions of Europe had learned to appreciate, 
to admire, and to envy the qualities of 
Queen Victoria—those many public and 
domestic virtues which were the pride of 
her subjects. 

There is genuine grief in the neighbour¬ 
ing nation of seventy-five million inhab¬ 
itants, the kinsmen of her own people, by 
whom, at all times, and under all circum¬ 
stances, her name was held in high rever¬ 
ence, and where, in the darkest days of the 
civil war, when the relations of the two 
countries were strained, almost to the point 
of snapping, the poet Whittier expressed 
the feeling of his countrymen : 

We bowed the heart, if not the knee, 

To England’s Queen, God bless her. 

There is wailing and lamentation amongst 
the savage and barbarian peoples of her vast 
empire, in the wigwams of our own Indian 
tribes, in the huts of the colored races of 
Africa and of India, to whom she was at all 
times the great mother, the living imperson¬ 
ation of majesty and benevolence. Aye, and 
t there is mourning also, genuine and unaf¬ 
fected, in the farm houses of South Africa, 
which have been lately, and still are de¬ 
vastated by war, for it is a fact that above the 
clang of arms, above the many angers 
engendered by the war, the name of Queen 
Victoria was always held in high respect, 
even by those who are fighting her troops, 
as a symbol of justice; and perhaps her 
kind hand was much relied upon when the 
supreme hour of reconciliation should come. 

Undoubtedly we may find in history 
instances where death has caused perhaps 
more passionate outbursts of grief, but it is 
impossible to find instances where death has 
caused so universal, so sincere, so heartfelt 
an expression of sorrow. In the presence 












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PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


261 


of these many evidences of grief which come 
not only from her own dominions, but from 
all parts of the globe ; in the presence of so 
many tokens of admiration, where it is not 
possible to find a single discordant note; 
in the presence of the immeasurable void 
caused by the death of Queeu Victoria, it is 
not too much to say that the grave has just 
closed upon one of the great characters of 
history. 

Victoria’s Reign a Great Era. 

What is greatness ? We are accustomed 
to call great, those exceptional beings upon 
whom heaven has bestowed some of its 
choicest gifts, which astonish and dazzle the 
world by the splendour of faculties, pheno¬ 
menally developed, even when these facul¬ 
ties are much marred by defects and weak¬ 
nesses which make them nugatory of good. 
But this is not, in my estimation, at least, 
the highest conception of greatness. The 
equipoise of a well-balanced mind, the equili¬ 
brium of faculties well and evenly ordered, 
the luminous insight of a calm judgment, 
are gifts which are as rarely found in one 
human being, as the possession of the more 
dazzling though less solid qualities. And 
when these high qualities are found in a 
ruler of men, combined with purity of soul, 
kindness of heart, generosity of disposition, 
elevation of purpose, and devotion to duty, 
this is what seems to me to be the highest 
conception of greatness, greatness which 
will be abundantly productive of happiness 
and glory to the people under such a sove¬ 
reign. If I mistake not, such was the 
character of Queen Victoria, and such were 
the results of her rule. It has been our 
privilege to live under her reign, 1,he grand¬ 
est in history, rivalling in length, and more 
than rivalling in glory the long reign of 
Louis XIV., and more than the reign of 
Louis XIV., likely to project its lustre into 
future ages. 

If we cast our glance back over the sixty- 
four years into which was encompassed the 
reign of Queen Victoria, we stand astonished, 
however familiar we may be with the facts, 
at the development of civilization which has 
taken place during that period. We stand 
astonished at the advance of culture, of 
wealth, of legislation, of education, of litera¬ 


ture, of the arts and sciences, of locomotion 
by land and by sea, and of almost every 
department of human activity. The age of 
Queen Victoria must be held to be on a par 
with the most famous within the memory 
of man. Many facts and occurrences which 
have contributed to make the reign of Queen 
Victoria what it was, to give it the splen¬ 
dour which has created such an impression 
upon her own country, and which has shed 
such a luminous trail all over the world, 
took place apart and away from herinfluence. 

. Rt. Hon. Sir Wilfrid Laurier, 

Premier of Canada. 

From speech in House of Commons, February 8, 1901 . 


COLONIAL UNION OF CANADA. 

Sir John Alexander Macdonald, from the time he first became 
Premier of Old Canada in 1856 , was the acknowledged leader 
of the Conservatives. He served the Dominion longer than any 
other man as Premier. At the time of his death, in 1891 . he was 
generally regarded as the foremost statesman of the American 
Continent. The following extract is a specimen of his oratory 

T he question of “Colonial Union” is 
one of such magnitude that it dwarfs 
every other question on this portion 
of the continent. It absorbs every idea as 
far as I am concerned. For twenty long 
years I have been dragging myself through 
the dreary waste of colonial politics. I 
thought there was no end, nothing worthy 
of ambition ; but now I see something which 
is v r ell worthy of all I have suffered in the 
cause of my little country. This question 
has now assumed a position that demands 
and commands the attention of all the colo¬ 
nies of British America. There may be ob¬ 
structions, local difficulties may arise, dis¬ 
putes may occur, local jealousies may inter¬ 
vene, but it matters not—the wheel is now 
revolving, and as we are only the fly on the 
w 7 heel we cannot delay it—the union of the 
colonies of British America, under one sov¬ 
ereign, is a fixed fact. Sir, this meeting in 
Halifax will be ever remembered in the his¬ 
tory of British America, for here the dele¬ 
gates from the several Provinces had the first 
opportunity of expressing their sentiments. 
We have been unable to announce them 
before; but now let me say that we have 
arrived unanimously at the opinion that the 
union of the Provinces is for the advantage 
of all, and that the only question that remains 



262 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


to be settled is, whether that union can be 
arranged with a due regard to sectional and 
loca 1 interests. 

I have no doubt that such an arrangement 
can be effected, that every difficulty will be 
found susceptible of solution, and that the 
great project will be successfully and happily 
realized. What were we before this question 
was brought before the public mind ? Here 
we were in the neighbourhood of a large 
nation—of one that has developed its mili¬ 
tary power in a most marvellous degree— 
connected by one tie only, that of common 
allegiance. True it was we were states of 
one sovereign, we all paid allegiance to the 
great central authority ; but as far as our¬ 
selves were concerned there was no political 
connection, and we were as wide apart as 
British America is from Australia. We had 
only the mere sentiment of a common alle¬ 
giance, and we were liable, in case England 
and the United States were pleased to differ, 
to be cut off, one by one, not having any 
common means of defence. I believe we 
shall have at length an organization that 
will enable us to be a nation and protect 
ourselves as we should. 

Look at the gallant defence that is being 
made by the Southern republic—at this mo¬ 
ment they have not much more than four 
millions of men—not much exceeding our own 
numbers—yet what a brave fight they have 
made, notwithstanding the stern bravery of 
the New Englander, or the fierce elan of the 
Irishman. We are now, I say, nearly four 
millions of inhabitants, and in the next decen¬ 
nial period of taking the census, perhaps we 
shall have eight millions of people, able to 
defend their country against all comers. But 
we must have one common organization— 
one political government. It has been 
said that the United States government is a 
failure. I don’t go so far. On the contrary, I 
consider it a marvellous exhibition of human 
wisdom. It was as perfect as human wis¬ 
dom could make it, and under it the Amer¬ 
ican States greatly prospered until very 
recently ; but being the work of men it had 
its defects, and it is for us to take advan¬ 
tage by experience, and endeavour to see if 
we cannot arrive by careful study at such a 
plan as will avoid the mistakes of our neigh¬ 
bours. 


In the first place, we know that every 
individual state was an individual sover¬ 
eignty—that each had its own army and 
navy and political organization—and when 
they formed themselves into a confedera¬ 
tion they only gave the central authority 
certain specific powers, reserving to the 
individual states all the other rights apper¬ 
taining to sovereign powers. The dangers 
that have arisen from this system we will 
avoid if we can agree upon forming a strong 
central government—a great central legisla¬ 
ture—a constitution for a union which will 
have all the rights of sovereignty except 
those that are given to the local govern¬ 
ments. Then we shall have taken a great 
step in advance of the American republic. 
If we can only attain that object—a vigor¬ 
ous general government—we shall not be 
New Brunswickers, nor Nova Scotians, nor 
Canadians, but British Americans, under 
the sway of the British sovereign. 

In discussing the question of colonial union, 
we must consider what is desirable and prac¬ 
ticable ; we must consult local prejudices 
and aspirations. It is our desire to do 
so. I hope that we will be enabled to 
work out a constitution that will have a 
strong central government, able to offer a 
powerful resistance to any foe whatever, and 
at the same time will preserve for each 
Province its own identity and will protect 
every local ambition ; and if we cannot 
do this, we shall not be able to carry 
out the object we have now in view. In 
the Conference we have had, we have been 
united as one man ; there was no difference 
of feeling ; no sectional prejudices or selfish¬ 
ness exhibited by any one; we all approached 
the subject feeling its importance—feeling 
that in our hands were the destinies of a 
nation ; and that great would be our sin 
and shame if any different motives had in¬ 
tervened to prevent us carrying out the 
noble object of founding a great British 
monarchy, in connection with the British 
Empire, and under the British Queen. 

The Rt. Hon. Sir John A. Macdonald, 

G.C.B.* 

Premier of'Canada, 1867-73, 1878-Qi. 

Address at Halifax. 1864. 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


EMPIRE FIRST. 

S hall we break the plight of youth, 

And pledge us to an alien love ? 

No ! We hold our faith and truth, 
Trusting to the God above. 

Stand, Canadians, firmly stand, 
’Round the flag of Fatherland. 

Britain bore us in her flank, 

Britain nursed us at our birth, 

Britain reared us to our rank 
’Mid the nations of the earth. 

Stand, Canadians, etc. 

In the hour of pain and dread, 

In the gathering of the storm, 

Britain raised above our head 

Her broad shield and sheltering arm. 
Stand, Canadians, etc. 

O triune kingdom of the brave, 

O sea-girt island of the free, 

O empire of the land and wave, 

Our hearts, our hands, are all for thee ! 
Stand, Canadians, etc. 

John Talon-Lesperance — ‘ ‘ Laclede. ’ ’ 


AN ODE FOR THE CANADIAN CON¬ 
FEDERACY. 

A wake, my country ! the hour is great 
with change 

Under this gloom which yet obscures 
the land, 

From ice-blue strait and stern Laurentian 
range 

To where giant peaks our western bounds 
command, 

A deep voice stirs, vibrating in men’s ears 
As if their own hearts throbbed that thun¬ 
der forth, 

A sound wherein who hearkens wisely hears 
The voice of the desire of this strong 
North,— 

This North whose heart of fire 
Yet knows not its desire 
Clearly, but dreams, and murmurs in the 
dream, 

The hour of dreams is done. Lo, on the 
hills the gleam ! 

Awake, my country ! the hour of dreams is 
done 


263 

Doubt not, nor dread the greatness of thy 
fate, 

Tho’ faint souls fear the keen, confronting 
sun, 

And fain would bid the morn of splendour 
wait; 

Tho’ dreamers, rapt in starry visions, cry, 

“ Lo, yon thy future, yon thy faith, thy 
fame ! ’ ’ 

And stretch vain hands to stars, thy fame 
is nigh, 

Here in Canadian hearth, and home, and 
name;— 

This name which yet shall grow 
Till all the nations know 

Us for a patriot people, heart and hand 

Loyal to our native earth,—our own Cana¬ 
dian land. 

O strong hearts guarding the birthright of 
our glory, 

Worth your best blood this heritage that 
ye guard 

Those mighty streams resplendent with our 
story, 

These iron coasts by rage of seas un¬ 
jarred,— 

What fields of peace these bulwarks well 
secure ! 

What vales of plenty those calm floods 
supply ! 

Shall not our love this rough, sweet land 
make sure, 

Her bounds preserve inviolate, though we 
die ? 

O strong hearts of the North, 

Let flame your loyalty forth, 

And put the craven and base to an open 
shame, 

Till earth shall know the Child of Nations 
by her name. 

Charles G. D. Roberts. 


THE CONFEDERATION OF CANADA. 

HE confederation of Canada was effected 
in 1867, under the leadership of Sir 
John Macdonald, assisted especially 
by his bosom friend and fellow statesman, 
Sir John Thompson. The intimate friend¬ 
ship and co-operation of these two states¬ 
men caused them to be familiary known as 
44 The two John's.’, 





264 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


THEY’LL NEVER GET HOME. 

Reciter may Dress in Uncle Sam Costume. 

When it was learned that Admiral Cervera had left che Cape 
Verde Islands with the flower of the Spanish Navy in May, 1898, 
the United States became much alarmed lest he should attack 
some of the cities along our Atlantic seaboard, or take possession 
of important Cuban ports. It was therefore decided that Admi¬ 
rals Sampson and Schley should attempt to intercept him some¬ 
where on the high seas and destroy his fleet. For many days the 
hunt went on, much like a fox chase, in the Caribbean sea. At 
last Schley reported that he had found the Spanish fleet in Sant¬ 
iago harbor. Sampson joined him before the mouth of the har¬ 
bor, and after more than a month’s siege, Cervera’s fleet was 
entirely destroyed by the Americans. The following lines are 
supposed to illustrate Uncle Sam’s jubilation when Admiral 
Schley announced that he had Cervera bottled up. 

B y gosh ! but we’ve got ’em—in old 
Santiago 

Cervery is bottled—the news is from 
Schley. 

I know’d mighty well we would get that 
there dago 

And cork him in tight, in the sweet by- 
and-by. 

Things looked purty bilious some days, I’ll 
admit it, 

And clouds sorter hung round the Capitol 
dome 

Till Schley’s message came, an’ ’twas this 
way he writ it:— 

“ I’ve got ’em,” he says, “ an’ they’ll 
never git home.” 

By ginger! it sounded like music fer 
sweetness ! 

I jest got right up an’ give three rousin’ 
cheers 

It had such neatness an’ sorter completeness 
It seem’ to fit into my hungerin’ ears. 

I could jest shet my eyes an’ see Schley’s 
boats a-layin’ 

Kinder peaceful out there where the blue 
billows foam ; 

I could listen a minute and hear him a 
sayin’ 

“ I’ve got ’em, b’ gosh ! an’ they’ll never 
git home.” 

Course the next thing, I s’pose, ’ll be some 
sort ’o fighting, 

(That cussed Cervery won’t give up a 
ship), 

An’ he’ll try to get out of the place he’s so 
tight in. 

But the Commydore’ll see he don’t give 
us the slip. 

That Pole-dee-Barnaby gang made us weary, 


An’ we got some disgusted with Seenyor 
De Lome, 

But I’m sorter attached to that feller 
Cervery, 

An’ we’ve got him ’b gosh ! an’ he’ll 
never git home. 


THE WAR SHIP “DIXIE.” 

hey’vE named a cruiser “Dixie”—• 
that’s what the papers say— 

An’ I hears they’re goin’ to man her 
with boys that wore the gray ; 

Good news ! It sorter thrills me and makes 
me want ter be 

Whar’ the ban’ is playin’ “ Dixie,” and 
the “ Dixie ” puts ter sea ! 

They’ve named a cruiser “Dixie.” An* 
fellers, I’ll be boun’ 

You’re goin’ ter see some fightin’ when 
the “ Dixie ” swings aroun’! 

Ef any o’ them Spanish ships shall strike 
her, East or West, 

Just let the ban’ play “ Dixie,” an’ the 
boys ’ll do the rest! 

I want ter see that “ Dixie I want ter 
take my stan’ 

On the deck of her and holler, “Three 
cheers fer Dixie lan’!” 

She means we’re all united—the war hurts 
healed away. 

An’ “Way Down South in Dixie” is 
national to-day ! 

I bet you she’s a good un ! I’ll stake my 
last red cent 

Thar ain’t no better timber in the whole 
blame settlement! 

An’ all their shiny battleships beside that 
ship are tame, 

Fer when it comes to “ Dixie ” thar’s 
something in a name J 

Here’s three cheers and a tiger—as hearty 
as kin be ; 

An’ let the ban’ play “Dixie” when the 
‘ ‘ Dixie ’ ’ puts ter sea ! 

She’ll make her way an’ win the day from 
shinin’ East ter West— 

Jest let the ban’ play “Dixie,” and the 
boys ’ll do the rest! 

Frank E. Stanton. 




PATRIOTISM AND WAP 


265 


EXPOSITIONS THE TIME KEEPERS OF 
PROGRESS. 

(From President McKinley’s speech at Buffalo.) 

E xpositions are the time keepers of 
progress. They record the world’s 
advancement. They stimulate the 
energy, enterprise and intellect of the people, 
and quicken human genius. They go into 
the home. They broaden and brighten the 
daily life of the people. They open mighty 
storehouses of information to the student. 
Every exposition, great or small, has helped 
to some onward step. Comparison of ideas 
is always educational, and as such instructs 
the brain and hand of man. Friendly rivalry 
follows, which is the spur to industrial im¬ 
provement, the inspiration to useful inven¬ 
tion and to high endeavor in all departments 
of human activity. It exacts a study of the 
wants, comforts, and even the whims of the 
people, and recognizes the efficacy of high 
quality and new prices to win their favor. 

The quest for trade is an incentive to men 
of business to devise, invent, improve and 
economize in the cost of production. Busi¬ 
ness life, whether among ourselves, or with 
other people, is ever a sharp struggle for suc¬ 
cess. It will be none the less so in the future. 
But, though commercial competitors we are, 
commercial enemies we must not be. 

The Pan-American Exposition has done 
its work thoroughly, presenting in its exhib¬ 
its evidences of the highest skill, and illus¬ 
trating the progress of the human family in 
the Western Hemisphere. This portion of 
the earth has no cause for humiliation for the 
part it has performed in the march of civili¬ 
zation. It has not accomplished everything ; 
far from it. It has simply done its best, and 
without vanity or boastfulness, and recog¬ 
nizing the manifold achievements of others, 
it invites the friendly rivalry of all the pow¬ 
ers in the peaceful pursuits of trade and 
commerce, and will co-operate with all in 
advancing the highest and best interests of 
humanity. The wisdom and energy of all 
the nations are none too' great for the world’s 
work. The success of art, science, industry 
and invention is an international asset and a 
common glory. * * 

Who can tell the new thoughts that have 
been awakened, the ambitions fired and the 


high achievements that will be wrought 
through this exposition ? 

Our earnest prayer is that God will gra¬ 
ciously vouchsafe prosperity, happiness and 
peace to all our neighbors, and like blessings 
to all the peoples and powers of earth. ” 


PROSPERITY AND COOPERATION 

T the beginning of the nineteenth cen¬ 
tury there was not a mile of steam rail¬ 
road on the globe. Now there are 
enough miles to make its circuit many times. 
Then there was not a line of electric tele¬ 
graph ; now we have a vast mileage travers¬ 
ing all lands and all seas. God and man have 
linked the nations together. No nation can 
longer be indifferent to any other. And, as we 
are brought more and more in touch with each 
other, the less occasion there is for misunder¬ 
standing and the stronger the disposition 
when we have differences to adjust them in 
the court of arbitration, the noblest form for 
the settlement of international disputes. 

My fellow-citizens, trade statistics indi¬ 
cate that this country is in a state of unex¬ 
ampled prosperity. The figures are almost 
appalling. They show that we are utilizing 
our fields and forests and mines, and that we 
are furnishing profitable employment to the 
millions of workingmen throughout the 
United States, bringing comfort and happi¬ 
ness to their homes and making it possi¬ 
ble to lay by savings for old age and dis¬ 
ability. 

That all the people are participating in 
this great prosperity is seen in every Ameri¬ 
can community, and shown by the enormous 
and unprecedented deposits in our savings 
banks. Our duty is the care and security of 
these deposits, and their safe investment de¬ 
mands the highest integrity and the best 
business capacity of those in charge of these 
depositories of the people’s earnings. 

We have a vast and intricate business, 
built up through years of toil and struggle, 
in which every part of the country has its 
stake, which will not permit of either neglect 
or undue selfishness. No narrow, sordid 
policy will subserve it. The greatest skill 
and wisdom on the part of manufacturers 
and producers will be required to hold and 
increase it. Our industrial enterprises. 




266 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


which have grown to such great proportions, 
affect the homes and occupations of the peo¬ 
ple and the welfare of the country. 

Our capacity to produce has developed 
so enormously, and our products have so 
multiplied, that the problem of more markets 
requires our urgent and immediate attention. 
Only a broad and enlightened policy will 
keep what we have. No other policy will 
get more. In these times of marvelous busi¬ 
ness energy and gain we ought to be looking 
to the future, strengthening the weak places 
in our industrial and commercial systems, 
that we may be ready for any storm or 
strain. 

Wieeiam McKineey, 1901. 


RECIPROCITY FAVORED. 

(FromPresident McKinley’s last speech, 1901.) 

B y sensible trade arrangements which 
will not interrupt our home produc¬ 
tion we shall extend the outlet for 
our increasing surplus. A system which 
provides a mutual exchange of commodi¬ 
ties is manifestly essential to the continued 
and healthful growth of our export trade. 
We must not repose in fancied security that 
we can forever sell everything and buy little 
or nothing. If such a thing were possible 
it would not be best for us, or for those with 
whom we deal. We should take from our 
customers such of their products as we can 
use without harm to our industries and 
labor. 

Reciprocity is the natural outgrowth of 
our wonderful industrial development under 
the domestic policy now firmly established. 
What we produce beyond our domestic con¬ 
sumption must have a vent abroad. The 
excess must be relieved through a foreign 
outlet, and we should sell everywhere we 
can and buy wherever the buying will enlarge 
our sales and productions, and thereby make 
a greater demand for home labor. 

The period of exclusiveness is past. The 
expansion of our trade and commerce is the 
pressing problem. Commercial wars are 
unprofitable. A policy of good will and 
friendly trade relations will prevent reprisals. 
Reciprocity treaties are in harmony with the 
spirit of the times; measures of retaliation 
are not. 


THE PERSONAL CHARACTER OF 
william McKinley. 

Extract (with omissions and necessary changes) from Bishop 
Andrews funeral sermon. 

C haracter abides. We bring nothing 
into this world, we can carry noth¬ 
ing out. We ourselves depart with 
all the accumulations of tendency, and 
habit, and quality which the years have 
given to us. We ask, therefore, even at the 
grave of the illustrious, not altogether what 
great achievement they had performed, and 
how they had commended themselves to the 
memory and affection or respect of the world, 
but chiefly of what sort they were ; what the 
interior nature of the man was ; what were 
his affinities. 

And such great questions come to us 
with moment, even in the hour when we 
gather around the bier of those whom we 
profoundly respect and eulogize and whom 
we tenderly love. 

We none of us can doubt, that by nature 
William McKinley was eminently gifted. 
The kindly, calm, and equitable tempera¬ 
ment, the kindly and generous heart, the 
love of justice and right, and the tendency 
toward faith and loyalty to unseen powers 
and authorities—these things must have been 
with him from his childhood, from his in¬ 
fancy ; but upon them supervened the train¬ 
ing for which he was always tenderly thankful 
and of which even this great nation from sea 
to sea continually has taken note. 

It was a humble home in which he was 
born. Narrow conditions were around him ; 
but faith in God had lifted that lowly roof, 
according to the statement of some great 
writer, up to the very heavens and permitted 
its inmates to behold the things eternal, im¬ 
mortal and divine ; and he came under that 
training. 

It is a beautiful thing that to the end of 
his life he bent reverently before that mother 
whose example, and teaching, and prayer 
had so fashioned his mind and all his aims. 
The school came to him but briefly, and 
then came to him the Church wdth a minis¬ 
tration of power. He accepted the truth 
which it taught. 

Such influences gave to us William Mc¬ 
Kinley. And what was he ? A man of such 



PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


267 


incorruptible, personal and political integ¬ 
rity, that no one ever attempted to approach 
him in the way of a bribe ; and we remem¬ 
ber, with great felicitation at this time, for 
such an example to ourselves, that when 
financial difficulties and perils encompassed 
him he determined to deliver all he possessed 
to his creditors, that there should be no 
challenge of his perfect honesty in the mat¬ 
ter. A man of immaculate purity, shall we 
say ? No stain was upon his escutcheon ; 
no syllable of suspicion was whispered 
against his character. He walked in perfect 
and noble self-control. 

Beyond that, this man had wrought in 
him a great and generous love for his fellow- 
men . He believed in men. He had himself 
been brought up among the common people. 
He knew their labors, struggles, necessities. 
He loved them, so that, though he was of 
all men most courteous, no one ever sup¬ 
posed but that courtesy was from the heart. 
It was spontaneous, unaffected, kindly, at¬ 
tractive, in a most eminent degree. 

What he was in the narrower circle of 
those to whom he was personally attached, he 
was also in the greatness of his comprehen¬ 
sive love toward the race of which he was 
part. If any man had been lifted up to take 
into his purview and desire to help all classes 
and conditions of men, all nationalities be¬ 
side his own, it was William McKinley. 


ELEMENTS OF ROOSEVELT’S GREATNESS. 

P resident Roosevelt has proved his 
mental, quite as well as his physical, 
ability, not only by his pen, which 
clearly expounds his sound philosophy, 
and exhibits his power of originality and 
analysis, but by his acts as an executive, 
in the several important offices he has so 
ably filled. As police commissioner grap¬ 
pling with corruption in New York City, as 
Assistant Secretary of the Navy at a time 
when that office required a man of the most 
conspicuous ability, for war had been de¬ 
clared, and as a Governor of New York, 
where he distinguished himself by branding 
fraud, and putting his foot upon the neck of 
bribery, and by driving out the money 
changers from the temple of state legislation. 
In all these places of public trust he was 


efficient, and proved himself an uncomprom¬ 
ising foe to every species of dishonesty. 
Nor are there any discredit marks upon the 
record of his career as official or citizen ; he 
has been a statesman of integrity, and one 
of wisdom as well; he is a champion of 
political reform, an enemy to blind partisan¬ 
ship, a patriot at all times, and a fighter in 
the front ranks when his country is menaced 
by war. 

And the virtue, as it is, of devotion to wife,' 
the love so beautiful, so heart-touching, so 
elevating with benign influence, which was 
conspicuous in the home life of McKinley, 
has its counterpart in the domesticity of 
Roosevelt. In him we see the blended ele¬ 
ments of soldier courage and the tender 
sentiment of perfect loyalty to the woman 
who enobles his career with reciprocated 
affection. The world is better by such men, 
even when that walk in humble ways, and 
when such occupy high places in public 
trust they become exemplars for the people, 
and diffuse an influence that is infinite for 
the national good. Bigotry, sectionalism, 
partisanship, in the sense of party passion, 
oppression, is impossible to a man of these 
lofty ideals and sincere purposes. 

The magnificent kindliness of Roosevelt, 
his splendid, untiring devotion to his com¬ 
rades in arms, made him the idol not only of 
his own troops, but of the army and of the 
people as well, and his popularity so worthily 
achieved, has lost none of its earnestness 
since, nor is it likely that the glory of his 
deeds will lose any of its lustre in all the 
years that shall know the great Republic of 
the United States. 


MEMORIAL DAY. 

hildren, bring the buds of springtime, 
Bring the fairest blooms of May, 
We will reverently lay them 
On the soldiers’ graves to-day. 

That our dear land should be happy, 

And no man a slave should be, 

That is what these brave men died fox ,— 
Gave their lives for Liberty. 

Now for them there is no sorrow ; 

Now for them all struggles cease ; 





268 


PATRIOTISM AND WAR 


Now for them all strife is ended ; 

They have won a glorious peace. 

So with bright and cheerful faces, 

We will go from grave to grave, 

On this day, when all the nation 
Loves to honor its dead brave. 

While the starry flag they died for 
Floats intwined with olive-branch, 

From the proudest Eastern city 
To the wildest Western ranch. 

Eisbkth B. Comins. 


DECORATION DAY. 

over them over with beautiful flowers ; 
Deck them with garlands, these broth¬ 
ers of ours, 

Lying so silent by night and by day, 

Sleeping the years of their manhood away,— 

Years they had marked for the joys of the 
brave, 

Years they must waste in the sloth of the 
grave. 

All the bright laurels they fought to make 
bloom 

Fell to the earth when they went to the tomb. 

Give them the meed they have won in the 
past; 

Give them the honors their merits forecast ; 


Give them the chaplets they won in the strife, 
Give them the laurels they lost with their 
life. 

Cover them over,—yes, cover them over,— 
Parent and husband and brother and lover ; 
Crown in your heart these dead heroes of 
ours, 

And cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

• ••••* • 

Cover the thousands that sleep far away,— 
Sleep where their friends cannot find them 
to-day; 

They who in mountain and hillside and dell 
Rest where they wearied, and lie where they 
fell. 

Softly the grass-blade creeps round their 
repose, 

Sweetly above them the wild flo weret blows ; 
Zephyrs of freedom fly gently o’erhead, 
Whispering names for the patriot dead. 

So in our minds we will name them once 
more, 

So in our hearts we will cover them o’er ; 
Roses and lilies and violets blue 
Bloom in our souls for the brave and the 
true. 

Cover them over—yes, cover them over— 
Parent and husband and brother and lo^er ; 
Think of those far-away heroes of ours. 
Cover them over with beautiful flowers. 

Wtee Career 



TOGETHER. 


Dedicated with warmest sympathy to the American people, by Alfred Austin, Poet Laureate of England, 1905* 


Who say we cherish far-off feud, 

Still nurse the ancient grudges? 

Show me the title of this brood 
Of self-appointed judges: 

Their name, their race, their nation, clan, 
And we will teach them whether 
We do not, as none others can, 

Feel, think and work together! 

Both speak the tongue that Milton spoke, 
Shakespeare and Chatham wielded, 

And Washington and all his folk 
When their just claim was yielded. 

In it both lisp, both learn, both pray, 
Dirge death, and thus the tether 
Grows tighter, tenderer, every day, 

That binds the two together. 


Our ways are one, and one our aim, 

And one will be our story, 

Who fight for Freedom, not for fame, 

From Duty, not for glory ; 

Both stock of the old Home, where blow 
Shamrock, and rose, and heather, 

And every year link arms and go 
Through its loved haunts together. 

Should envious aliens plan and plot 
’Gainst one, and now the other, 

They swift would learn how strong the knot 
Binds brother unto brother. 

How quickly they would change their tack 
And show the recreant feather, 

Should Siar-and-Stripe, and Union Jack, 
But float mast-high together. 




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GOLF AN OLD GAME NOW POPULAR IN AMERICA 

the illustration shows the Game at one of the most interesting points. 











BOOK III 



AMES 

AMUSEMENTS 

AND SPORTS 

FOR INDOORS 
AND OUT 


INDOOR GAMES OF SKILL. Dart, Jackstraws, The Cudgel 

Game, Archery, Etc. 

GAMES AND TRICKS TO STIMULATE THE 

I Aft A P I NT ATI OKI The German Dwarf, Head, Body and Legs, 
liVlAvjrllNA 1 IwlN. Fright, the Clairvoyant, Magical Music, Pull¬ 
ing Ribbon from the Mouth, the Magical Hat, Blind Man’s Buff, Etc. 

GAMES AND PASTIMES TO STRENGTHEN THE 

.mmon, Drafts, Word 
Games, Consequences, Forfeits, Characteristics, 
Charades, Tableaux, Living Pictures, Card Games, Literary Societies. 

OUTDOOR GAMES AND PLEASURES FOR ALL 

Cricket, Baseball, Tennis, Football, Golf, Hockey, Polo, Lacrosse, Curl¬ 
ing, Foot Racing, Walking, Jumping, Hammer Throwing, Jingling, Sling 
the Monkey, Tag, Tug-of-War, Etc. 


IMTPI 1 FPT Chess, Checkers, Backgai 
11N 1 LLLLG 1 • (GnmPQ r.nnQPnnpnrp? Fnr 
























GAMES, AMUSEMENTS AND SPORTS 

FOR INDOORS AND OUT 

HOW THEY ARE PLAYED—THE POPULARITY OF EACH—EMBRACING 
MANY GAMES, NEW AND OLD, OF SKILL, ENTERTAINMENT, 

FOR MENTAL CULTURE, ETC., ETC. 


VALUE OF AMUSEMENTS 

MUSEMENTS serve important purposes in the economy of human life and produce 
important effects both upon happiness and character. Like the wells of the desert 
they are the resting and refreshing places in which toil may relax, the weary 
spirit recover its tone, the desponding mind reassume its strength and its hope. 
They are, in another view, of some importance to the very dignity of individual character. 
In everything we call amusements there is some display of taste and imagination; and 
by affording innocent pastime they have the tendency to preserve the character in a 
healthy condition. The old Puritan idea of austere seriousness was as harmful as the 
other extreme of unrestrained license. Both are destructive of happiness and injurious to 
character. Therefore, don’t be afraid of a little fun at home. Young people must have 
fun and relaxation, and if they do not find it in their own homes it will be sought at 
other, and, perhaps, dangerous places. Therefore, let the fire burn brightly at night and 
make the home-nest delightful, with a hundred innocent pleasures and pastimes that 
thoughtful parents can devise, and this book will help them to provide. Don’t repress 
the natural bouyant spirit of young people. Half an hour of merriment is also good for 
the old. Let it come as many winter evenings and summer days as possible. It blots out 
the remembrance of many a care and annoyance of the day that is ending, and its memory 
will be one of the most pleasant heirlooms the children will carry with them into the 
outer world from the old domestic nest, to enhance the meaning of those words “ Home, 
^weet Home” in after years.— Sheppard 

FOOTBALL. 

ASBBALiv is considered the American 
national game and it is also the p?v- 
fessioiial game backed by stock com¬ 
panies and played by hired professionals rep¬ 
resenting the leading American cities. But 
football has become the recognized College 
game of contest for physical prowess between 
the leading institutions of learning, and as 
such it is more popular, perhaps, than any 
other College game in history, 

271 



Football is one of the oldest of English 
games, and seems to have been very pop¬ 
ular as early as the fourteenth century, 
though how it was played then we do 
not know, except that it was very different 
from the modern game. Town was then 
matched against town, village against vil¬ 
lage, and all the able-bodied inhabitants 
took part. The goals were often miles 
apart, and consisted of natural objects, such 




272 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


as brooks, bridges, etc. The ball was 
kicked or carried at will, and little science 
or skill was expected of the players. 

Modern football is a very different affair, 
one governed by intricate rules and regula¬ 
tions, and needing the utmost skill and 
alertness in the players. There are two 
systems in England, the comparatively 
simple Association game, played with a 
round ball, and with only sixteen rules in 
its code of laws ; and the intricate Rugby 
Union game, played with an oblong ball, 
and with fifty rules of play. 

The American game, brought to this 
country in 1876, is a development of the 
Rugby game, though it bears many points of 
resemblance to the Association game of 
England. In addition, it has developed 
various rules of its own, and is now a far 
more .clearly defined and scientific game 
than it was originally. In its quarter cen¬ 
tury and more of existence it has developed 
into a sport of matchless character as re¬ 
gards the skill, agility, strength, and in¬ 
telligence demanded, and the inter-collegiate 
game of to-day is unequaled as an athletic 
exercise. 

The field on which football is played 
consists of a rectangular space 330 feet long 
and 160 feet wide, the boundaries being 
marked by heavy white lines traced in lime 
upon the ground. Usually the field is 
marked with cross lines at every five yards, 
to aid in determining the position of the 
ball at each down. The two end lines are 
termed the goal lines , the side lines are the 
touch or bounds, and the corner spaces be¬ 
yond the touch and goal lines, are termed 
touch in goal. The actual goals are placed 
in the middle part of the goal lines, and are 
indicated by two upright posts over 20 feet 
high and 18 fz feet apart, joined by a cross¬ 
bar 10 feet from the ground. 

A ball that crosses the goal line is said 
to be In Goal; if it crosses a side line it is 
Out of Bounds; if it enters the angular 
spaces at the corners of the field it is in 
Touch in Goal. 

The ball is of oblong shape, the regula¬ 
tion size being about 12 inches long by 9 
inches wide. It is made of India-rubber 
or an ox-bladder, covered with pig-skin or 
other leather, inflated with air underpressure. 


The game is played by two teams of 
eleven men each, and is divided into halves, 
each side having 35 minutes play, with an 
intermission of 10 minutes. The frequent 
roughness of the game demands a protective 
dress, which is provided by thickly-padded 
trousers, shin-guards, etc., the shoes having 
leather cross-pieces on the soles to prevent 
slipping. 

Each man on the field has his alloted 
place. On taking the field the players 
“lineup’’ as follows: In front, on each 
side, is a rush line of seven men, whose 
positions are termed centre, right guard , 
right tackle , and right end, and left guard, 
left tackle , and left e 7 id. Close behind the 
centime stands the quarter-back, farther in the 
rear, on either side, the two half-backs, and 
ten or twelve yards behind these the full¬ 
back or goal tender. The two sides face 
each other in the centre of the field, with a 
short distance between them. There are 
besides a referee, an umpire, and a lines¬ 
man, to decide on disputed points in the 
game. 

The purpose of the game is to force the 
ball through or over the opponents’ goal, 
this being achieved by kicking, by running 
with the ball, by dribbling or working it 
along with the feet, or by any means other 
than throwing it forward—it may be thrown 
to the side or backward. The opposing 
side seeks to prevent the forward movement 
of the ball and reverse its motion, by catch¬ 
ing it when in the air, by preventing kicks, 
by ‘ ‘ tackling ’ ’ the holder of the ball and 
stopping a run, and by almost any means 
short of a violent assault with fists or feet, 
tripping, throttling, etc. 

The side that wins the first toss begins 
the game by a “ kick off ’ ’ from the exact 
centre of the field. Instantly the rush line 
plunges forward with the hope of aiding the 
ball in its progress, while the opposite side 
seeks to return it by a kick or a run round 
the end of the line. A * ‘ scrimmage ’ ’ occurs 
when the holder of the ball, checked in his 
career, puts it on the ground and seeks to 
put it in play by snapping it backward or 
kicking it forward. 

There are numerous technical terms in 
the game, of which the more important may 
be given. A drot> kick is made by letting 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 




the ball fall and kicking it on the rebound ; 
a punt signifies a kick before the ball reaches 
the ground ; a kick-out is made into the field 
by a player who has touched the ball down 
in his own goal, or from his touch-in-goal. 
A touch-down is made when the ball is car¬ 
ried, kicked, or passed across the goal line 
and held either in goal or toucli-in-goal. A 
safety touch-down is made when a player 
touches down the ball in his own goal or 
touch-in-goal; a touch-back when the ball, 
having been sent across the goal line by an 
opponent, is touched down by a player be¬ 
hind his own goal. 

Scoring in FootbaSl. 

The scoring is as follows: A goal ob¬ 
tained by a touch-down counts 6 points ; a 
goal from a field kick, 5 points ; a touch¬ 
down beyond the goal line, but outside the 
goal, 5 points; a safety touch down, 2 
points. A player is tackled when his oppo¬ 
nents assail him while running with the 
ball ; interference signifies the efforts of his 
fellow-players to prevent a tackle; a down 
occurs when he is fairly stopped in a run and 
’shouts “ down.” Some player of his side 
then puts the ball down for a scrimmage. 
The ball in this case cannot be touched by 
the hand, and the players on each side 
gather into a struggling mass, each side 
trying to move it with their feet or to pre¬ 
vent their opponents from moving it. If it 
be snapped back from a down the quarter¬ 
back must be alert to seize it, and pass it to 
a half-back for a run. 

There are various other terms in use, to 
signify the other positions of the ball and 
the players, and the game can be understood 
fully only by play. American football has 
the credit of being much rougher than that 
played in England, and causing more seri¬ 
ous accidents to players. These are due to 
violence during a scrimmage and to the 
force of combined runs. When the back or 
half-back is running with the ball, the play¬ 
ers of his side gather round and run with 
him, in a wedge-shaped mass. The oppo¬ 
nents seek to break through the wedge and 
reach the runner, and to the violence of 
these encounters many dangerous injuries 
are due. This violence of play has given 
rise to much adverse criticism, and a game 
18 H 


is gradually being evolved which, while de¬ 
manding as much skill and activity, can be 
played with more safety to the contestants. 

Baseball. 

This is the national ball-game of the 
United States, as cricket is that of England. 
While requiring the highest athletic vigor, 
skill, pluck, and presence of mind, it is 
simple in character, and can be played by 
boys as well as men, by amateurs as well as 
professionals. The principle of baseball 
is, in brief, as follows : It needs a level area 
of fine turf, about 600 feet long by 400 
broad, at one end of which is a diamond¬ 
shaped field of 90 feet square. The four 
corners of this constitute the bases. Three 
of these are marked by canvas bags filled 
with sawdust, and secured in place, and the 
fourth, or home base, by an iron plate or 
stone fixed in the ground. The grass of the 
field needs to be kept cut close, and the 
bases and the paths between them to be laid 
with hard, dry soil, in such a manner as to 
shed water. 

Nine players constitute a side, one side 
taking the bat and the other the field, the 
sides changing in this alternately. The 
batsman stands at the home base, having 
the pitcher opposite him in the field, 45 feet 
away, and the catcher close behind him. A 
basema?i stands near each of the bags at the 
1st, 2d and 3d bases, a short stop between 
the 2d and 3d bases, and a right , centre, 
and left field at a considerable distance in the 
rear of the bases. Thus on the side of the 
fielders the whole nine are at play, while on 
the opposite side only one, the batsman, is 
engaged. 

The: Pitcher.— The pitcher of a base¬ 
ball nine occupies the most important posi¬ 
tion of the nine, and the one most difficult 
and responsible to fill. His position is within 
the lines of a space six feet by four. The 
rules require him to deliver the ball while 
standing in his position, and when in the 
act of delivering, or in making any prelim¬ 
inary motion to deliver the ball, he must 
have both feet within the lines of his posi¬ 
tion, and he cannot take a step outside the 
lines until the ball has left his hands. 
Should lie do so he incurs the penalty for 
balking. He is allowed to deliver the ball 


274 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


to the bat in any way except by an over¬ 
hand throw or by any round-arm movement, 
as in bowling in cricket; therefore, he can 
send in the ball by an underhand throw, 
provided in so doing he swings his arm per¬ 
pendicularly to the side of his body, and 
forward below the waist. He should bear 
in mind the important fact that the true art 
of pitching is to deceive the eyes of the bats¬ 
man—that is, to send the ball in such a 
manner as to lead the striker to believe that 
it is coming just where he wants it; while 
in fact it may be too high or too low, too 
swift or too slow. If he strikes at and 
misses it, or fails to strike at a fair ball four 
times in succession, he must run for first 
base or will be declared out. Four unfair 
balls (sent below the knee or above the 
shoulder of the striker, or otherwise not 
fair) entitle the batsman to take his place 
on first base. 

If he strikes the ball and sends it within 
the lines of the diamond (otherwise it is 
foul) he drops the bat and runs for first 
base, another player succeeding him at the 
bat. If a previous batsman occupy this 
base, he must also run, and so on with all 
occupied bases—no two players being al¬ 
lowed together on the same base. 

The Fielders. —It is the work of the 
fielders to prevent the striker from making 
a base. If a ball, driven by the bat, is 
caught in the air—or ‘ ‘ on the fly ’ ’—the 
striker is declared out; and this whether the 
ball be foul or fair. It not caught, it must 
be seized and returned by a throw as quickly 
as possible to the shortstop or the basemen. 
If the runner is touched by a ball in the 
hands of a fieldman before he can make a 
base he is put out. While the pitcher is 
preparing to deliver a ball or the catcher to 
return it, the alert players at the bases may 
seek to steal runs. Instead of making their 
usual throws, the pitcher or catcher may 
turn and quickly send the ball to a baseman, 
and thus put out the runner before he can 
reach his goal. 

When three players are put out, the 
inning ends ; the party in the field now tak¬ 
ing the bat and the other party occupying 
the field. Nine innings on each side con¬ 
stitute a game, which is won by the side 
that makes the most runs —a run being the 


four sides of the square, back to the home 

base. 

To the inexperienced looker-on at a 
match at baseball, it may seem a compara¬ 
tively easy task to run from one base to an¬ 
other ; but base running is something that 
requires considerable ‘ ‘ head-work * ’ to excel 
in it. To know when to start and when to 
stop, to avoid hesitancy between bases, are 
as important essentials as fast running, 
pluck, and nerve. There are so many 
things to look out for, and so little time to 
judge of one’s movements, that it comes to 
be quite an art to excel in base running. In 
base running the rule is—the man who 
hesitates is lost. 

Though football has ousted baseball 
from its position as a college game, its 
popularity continues great, and there is no 
danger of its losing its position as the 
American national game. It has the ad¬ 
vantage of being much less dangerous than 
its rival, while it demands quite as much 
skill, agility, and mental alertness. 

Cricket. 

Cricket is the national English ball 
game, as baseball is the American. It is 
played in all lands in which Englishmen 
have settled, the most notable clubs in the 
United States being those of Philadelphia. 
It is played upon a level piece of turf, gen¬ 
erally of an acre or two in extent. In a 
full game there are eleven players on each 
side, though unequal numbers of players 
may be engaged. There are two sets of 
wickets, or stumps , which are placed oppo¬ 
site each other, 22 yards apart. Each set 
consists of three stumps , or stakes, driven 
into the ground, 27 inches high, and set too 
close to let a ball pass between them. On 
top rest two loose' bails , pieces of wood 4 
inches long. The bat must not be more 
than 38 inches long, and 2 y 2 wide in its 
striking portion. 

Two lines are drawn on the grass near 
the two sets of wickets. The first, in a 
line with the stumps, is called the bowling 
crease. Behind this the bowler stands to 
deliver the ball. Four feet in front of the 
other wicket is the popping crease , within 
which the striker must stand. Behind this 
wicket stands the wicket-keeper , Of the 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


2 75 


two sides, one has only two men engaged— 
the batsmen, who stand before the two 
wickets. The other side has all its men in 
the field in various positions. 

The ball must be bowled—delivered, 
that is, with a round or straight-arm move¬ 
ment ; it cannot be thrown or jerked. The 
object of the bowler is to hit the wicket, if 
possible; the duty of the batsman is to 
protect the wicket with his bat, and to 
strike and send it out over the field. The 
ball struck, he runs for the opposite wicket, 
whose batsman changes places with him. 
If he can do this before the ball is returned 
by the fielders, and the wicket struck down 



The number of runs made by either party 
constitutes its score, the one with the great¬ 
est number being the victor. 

When a batsman is put out, another 
player of his side takes his place, and this 
continues until all but one are out. Then 
this side goes to the field and the other side 
takes the bat. Two innings to each side 
constitute a game. If the party of the sec¬ 
ond innings make 80 runs less than tlieir 
opponents— or 60, if it be a one-day game 
—they must go in again on third innings, 


since in this case the first party has the 
chance to win in a single innings. 

There are stringent rules. The bowler 
must keep one foot behind the bowling 
crease and must not raise his hand or arm 
above his shoulder in delivering the ball 
An infraction of these rules constitutes a 
no-ball, and scores one to the opposite 
party. The same penalty is exacted if he 
sends a wide ball —one on the outside of the 
popping crease at the opposite wicket. 
The striker is considered out under the fol¬ 
lowing circumstances : If either the bails 
be bowled off or a stump be bowled out of 
the ground. If the ball from the stroke of 
the bat or bowler’s hand be caught and 
held before it touches the ground. If in 
striking, or while the ball is in play, both 
his feet be over the popping crease, and his 
wicket be put down—except his bat be 
grounded within it. If in striking he hit 
down his wicket. If while he is running, 
and before any part of his person or the bat 
in his hand be grounded over the popping 
crease, his wicket be struck down by a ball 
thrown frcm the field, or by the hand or 
arm, holding the ball, of the wicket-keeper 
or a fielder. If he stop the ball with any 
part of his person when so delivered that it 
would have hit the wicket. If he hit the 
ball twice, touch or take it up while in 
play, prevent it from being caught, or 
knock down the wicket with any part oi his 
dress. If the ball is caught no run can be 
counted. 

Cricket is a game requiring great skill, 
but more open to chance than other popular 
ball games. Some single misadventure 
may mar the fortune of a promising game, 
and the result is never sure until the match 
is played to the end. Constant practice is 
necessary to make a good bowler, and teach 
him how to vary the speed and pitch of his 
ball and impart a twist to its motion ; and 
to make a successful cricketer there are 
needed strength, agility, and the qualities of 
patience, quick decision and prompt execu¬ 
tion. 

Golf. 

As baseball is the national game of 
America, and cricket that of England, golf 
holds the same rank in Scotland, though it 




276 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


is now largely played in other parts of the 
world, and has grown highly popular in the 
Unned States. It is an enjoyable amuse¬ 
ment, and one replete with healthful exer¬ 
cise, while free from those spasms of violent 
energy and perils to life and limb which are 
serious drawbacks to many other games. It 
is played over downs or commons, links, in 
Scottish phraseology, and it rather adds to 
the pleasure of the game if the ground be 
broken by sand pits, grassy knolls or other 
obstructions to easy movement of the ball. 

Over the golf-ground are a series of cir¬ 
cular holes, four inches in diameter, at vari¬ 
ous distances apart (from 80 to 500 yards) 
generally cut on a patch of smooth turf, to 
aid “putting”—the gentle tapping of the 
ball when near the hole. The players are 
either two or four—two on a side. In case 
of four, the two parties strike the ball alter¬ 
nately. Each side has its own ball, and the 
object of the game is to drive the ball from 
hole to hole around the course with the few¬ 
est number of strokes, the player who 
“holes” the ball with the fewest strokes 
winning that hole. If an even number is 
made the hole counts for neither. The side 
that counts the greatest number of holes 
wins the game. 

A variety of clubs are used, with differ¬ 
ently curved ends, known as the play-club, 
the driver , the spoon , the iron, the cleek, the 
niblick, and the putter and of some of these 
there are several varieties. Whichever of 
these is best suited to strike the ball out of a 
difficult situation is used. These are usu¬ 
ally carried by a caddie or boy. The game 
is started by each player striking his ball 
from a slight elevation at the starting-point, 
and cannot be touched afterwards except by 
a club until it reaches a hole, except to lift 
it when too near an opponent’s ball to per¬ 
mit play. In this case it must be replaced 
in the same spot. At first the ball is struck 
off with a hard drive. As it approaches the 
hole it must be handled with gentleness and 
skill. No obstacle can be removed, except 
loose materials preventing a stroke—except 
on the “ putting ” green, or the space within 
20 yards of a hole. Here the “ putter ’ ’ (a 
straight stick, with a medium-sized, fiat¬ 
shaped head, weighted with lead) is used, it 
needing great skill to drive the ball into the 


small hole with a single or a very few 
strokes. 

The contest for one hole settled in favor 
of one side, the next is fought for in the 
same way, and the game is continued until 
the course is finished, or until one side has 
won a majority of the holes. Several 
matches may be played on the same ground 
at the same time, occasionally three or more 
balls being used in a match, where the 
players choose to play singly. Disparity in 
skill between players is balanced by ‘ ‘ odds,” 
the less skillful being allowed a stroke extra 
to every hole, or every second or third hole, 
as the case may be. 

Hockey. 

This formerly popular, and reviving, 
English game, bears a close relation to 
shinty, a Scottish game, out of which it 
may have been developed. Like it, it is 
played with a stick curved at the end, and 
the purpose is to drive the ball past a goal. 
A hockey ground should be 100 yards long 
and 50 wide, the ends, as in football, being 
called the goal lines, and the field marked 
out by flags at the corners and on the side 
lines. The goals consist of two uprights 
twelve feet apart in the centre of each goal 
line, and having between them, seven feet 
from the ground, a horizontal bar or cord 
Fifteen yards in front of each goal a line 
twelve feet long is drawn, whose ends are 
curved round to the goal line by quarter cir¬ 
cles made from the goal posts as centres. 
The space inclosed is called the striking cir¬ 
cle, and no goal can be made unless the ball 
be driven between the goal posts and under 
the bar from a point within the circle. 

The game is played by two sides, of 
eleven players each. It begins at the centre 
of the ground by what is called bullying the 
ball. Two players of opposite sides face 
each other, and each strikes the ground on 
his side of the ball, and his opponent’s stick 
over the ball, three times alternately, after 
which each is at liberty to hit at the ball. 

The ball once started, it must be played 
from right to left only, and no back-handed 
play, charging, kicking, collaring, shinning, 
or tripping is allowed, and in striking the 
stick must not be raised above the shoulder. 
The ball can be caught in the air and 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


2 77 


stopped with any part of the body, but can 
be moved onward only with the hockey 
stick. If rolled over the side lines (or into 
touch —as in football) it may be rolled out 
into the field at right angles to the side 
line. In a well-played game, dribbling the 
ball is the most skillful play ; that is, mov¬ 
ing it along by gentle taps, following closely, 
and dodging opponents. A skillful player, 
when hard pressed, will pass the ball to an¬ 
other of his own side, and it may frequently 
thus be run into goal. 

Hockey on the ice is an exhilarating 
game. There no goals are necessary, no 
sides chosen, no rules imposed. ‘ ‘ All against 
all ” is the rule, and the limits of the pond 
are the boundaries, the ball flying wildly at 
the lightest touch. A skilled skater, who 
can dribble the ball along cunningly, and 
artfully dodge his opponents, has much the 
best chance of winning the game. There is 
no more exciting sport than this. 

Polo. 

Polo may briefly be described as hockey 
on horseback. It was developed in India, 
and brought thence a few years ago to the 
western world, where it has become a great 
favorite with good horsemen. The game is 
played as above described, the horsemanship 
required lending it its strongest attraction. 
A long club is necessarily used, with a 
handle shaped somewhat like a mallet, and 
the stroke given the ball is usually a hard 
one, as to attempt to dribble on horseback is 
too difficult to be trusted to. Ponies are 
used rather than horses, the chief requisites 
being that they shall be swift, both on the 
run and in the turn, afraid of nothing, and 
obedient to the slightest movement of the 
rider. The principal danger in the game is 
in attempting to make a stroke when several 
ponies are together. A skillful player will 
follow the ball at full speed, overtake it 
short of the goal and by a clever back-hand 
stroke send it flying far backward towards 
his friends. 

Basket Ball. 

In this very popular game we have to do 
with an indoor amusement, adapted to men 
and women players alike, and affording 
much pleasant and healthful exercise and 


recreation. It doubtless had its origin in 
or was based upon the game of football, 
which it resembles in many particulars. 
The game is played on a prescribed space 
within a large room, as the floor of a hall or 
gymnasium, the number of players being 
usually five or seven on each side. At 
either end of the playing space a basket is 
suspended, at a height of about ten feet, 
this corresponding to the goal in football. 
The ball is round, somewhat smaller and 
lighter than an ordinary football, and is 
passed by the hands instead of the feet, 
being thrown or transferred from player to 
player, or struck by the hands in its flight 
through the air. The object of the game is 
to lodge it in the basket of the opposing 
party, this counting one point in the game. 

The rules are adopted from those of foot¬ 
ball, and have to do with interference, play¬ 
ing out of bounds, etc. The ball is started 
from the centre of the prescribed space, and 
is advanced by vigorous efforts of the op¬ 
posing sides, the struggle being often active 
and energetic, and affording abundant exer¬ 
cise, though devoid of the dangerous rough¬ 
ness of the corresponding outdoor game. 
Basket-ball has grown rapidly in popularity 
since 1896, especially in the East, and is 
now extensively played as an indoor winter 
amusement. 

Lacrosse. 

There is still another national game of 
ball to be described, lacrosse, the game of 
Canada, which is as great a favorite in that 
country as the other national games de¬ 
scribed are in their respective countries. 
The game is of Indian origin, and used 
formerly to be played between two tribes of 
Indians, the number of players being limited 
and the goals one or two miles apart. 

The crosse , the instrument with which 
the game is played, is a straight piece of 
wood, about an inch thick and four feet 
long, bent into a semicircle at the top, with 
a piece of gut drawn from the top of this 
semicircle to a point about 18 or 20 inches 
from the straight end of the stick. The 
space between the gut and the stick is 
woven into a network of gut, forming a 
coarser and more pliable network than that 
of a tennis racket, The ball is rather larger 


278 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


than a tennis ball, and composed of solid 
sponge India-rubber. 

As lacrosse is played now there is no 
limit to the size of the field, though the 
goals are placed at from 100 to 150 yards 
apart. The goals consist of two upright 
posts six feet high and six feet apart, thus 
forming a space six feet square, through 
which the ball must pass to score a game. 
There are no minor points, and a game 
usually lasts ninety minutes, ends being 
changed at half time. Each team should 
number twelve players, who are stationed 
at suitable points from end to end of the 
field, in opposing couples, with the excep¬ 
tion of a goal-keeper to each goal. 

The play is begun by the two men in the 
centre of the field, who immediately start a 
struggle for the ball w T hen “ Play ” is called. 
The one that succeeds in lifting it upon the 
network of his crosse runs with it, and if 
closely followed endeavors to pass it to one 
of his own side, who at once makes a sharp 
throw for goal. A skillful thrower, who 
knows just how to give the ball the fullest 
impetus with his crosse, is able to fling it a 
great distance, say 100 to 130 yards. If the 
ball be stopped by a player of the opposite 
side, play is at once resumed at a new point, 
and so the game goes on. If the ball passes 
the goal without going through, it is thrown 
back towards the centre of the field by the 
goal-keeper, and the fielders rush in to gain 
it. The ball may thus visit every part of 
the field in succession before a lucky throw 
carries it through the goal. 

Like most ball games, there is a certain 
amount of danger in lacrosse, but the hurts 
are never serious. It can be played both in 
winter and summer, but a good light and a 
dry, even turf hre decided helps. 

Lawn Tennis. 

Lawn tennis is an adaptation to outdoor 
courts of the old game of tennis, once a 
favorite of court and castle. It may be 
played wherever there is a moderate ex¬ 
panse of turf or smooth ground, and has 
grown into general appreciation with those 
who wish to combine healthful exercise 
with safe tv. It has the advantage also that 
it is adapted to men and women alike, 


The game may be played by two, three, 
or four persons, the accessories being the 
balls, racquets, net, and posts. It needs 
for successful play a hard, smooth surface, 
of grass, gravel, or other material. The 
court is 78 feet long, and 27 feet broad if 
two play, or 36 feet broad for three or four 
players. It is divided lengthwise into two 
equal parts by a line, and crosswise by a 
net. Cross lines, called service lines , are 
drawn on each side, 21 feet from the net. 
These lines can be marked by white tape or 
other distinguishing means. The net is 
stretched across the centre of the court, 
three feet high in the middle, and a little 
higher at the ends, the top rope being 
drawn as taut as desirable. 

The game is begun by a player standing 
on the base-line of his end of the court, who 
serves the ball, striking it w T ith his racquet 
and driving it into that part of the other 
half of the court diagonally opposite him. 
His opponent returns it on the first 
bound, and he returns it again, striking 
it on the fly or on the first bound. In 
this way it is driven back and forth over 
the net, until one side fails to return it, or 
to drop it inside the opposite court. A 
failure to serve or return the ball counts 15 
for the opposite side, a second failure raises 
the score to 30, a third to 40, and a fourth 
loses the game. Failure may result from 
missing the ball, driving it against the net, 
or sending it beyond the limits of the op¬ 
posite court. The game, as will be seen 
from this description, is a very simple one. 
It yields, however, much entertainment and 
excellent exercise, and is deservedly popu¬ 
lar. 

Croquet. 

The games so far described demand, 
some of them great strength and vigor, 
others much activity. A quieter game, 
yielding beneficial outdoor exercise, but re¬ 
quiring no great muscular energy or vigor¬ 
ous action, is that here named. It is a 
game suitable alike for men and women, 
boys and girls, one that can be played by 
semi-invalids or old men, and for a consid¬ 
erable time it was highly popular. It has 
now been thrown into the shade by the 
more active and exciting game of lawn 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


tennis, which can be played on the same 
grounds, yet it still retains some degree of 
vitality. 

The game of croquet is played on a 
smooth piece of lawn, by two or more per¬ 
sons, with wooden balls painted in different 
colors, which are driven over the ground 
by mallets, and made to pass through hoops 
of wire. It is impossible to send the ball 
through all the hoops in succession with¬ 
out a break. 

Two pegs are driven into the ground at 
the two ends of the field, each contestant, 
or set of contestants, making one of these 
a starting and closing point. Between them 
are placed the hoops, ten in number. Six 
of these are on the line joining the pegs, 
two being near each peg, a few yards from 
the peg and from each other. Midway be¬ 
tween them, in the centre of the ground, 
two hoops are placed together, crossing 
each other at right angles, thus increasing 
the difficulty of passage. On each side of 
the ground stand two more hoops, so placed 
as to make nearly a straight line with the 
second hoop from each peg. 

The main object of the game is, starting 
from the peg, to drive the ball through all 
the hoops in orderly succession, striking 
the opposite peg, and returning, the course 
being ended by driving the ball against the 
starting peg. This is by no means an easy 
task, but one requiring a sure eye and a 
straight stroke, the opening of the hoops 
being narrow and their distance apart con¬ 
siderable. 

The game is by no means confined to 
driving the balls through the hoops. Its 
most important feature is the method of ad¬ 
vancing your own interests and at the same 
time diminishing those of your opponent 
by the feature known as croquetting. 
When a player’s turn arrives, he may either 
play for a hoop or for his opponent’s ball. 
If he hits the latter, he has the privilege of 
raking up his own ball, placing it side by 
side with the other and driving the latter in 
whatever direction he wishes. He may 
send it far out of position, and at the same 
time, if sufficiently skillful, send his own 
ball into position for another play at the 
hoops. This entitles him to another play, 
and if his ball goes through the proper 


hoop he may again play on the opponent’s 
ball, or any ball on the ground, if there are 
more than two players. In the usual game, 
of four players, two on a side, there are 
abundant opportunities for a skillful player 
to put his opponents out of position or to 
help his partner into a better place. This 
principle of croquetting adds enormously to 
the interest of the game and to the power 
of a skillful player to discomfit his antago¬ 
nists, and the long continued popularity of 
the game was due to the opportunities for 
varied combinations and the exercise of 
skill which thus arose. At present the 
game is shadowed by newer claimants to 
favor, but is still much played by those 
who prefer gentle exercise to the violent 
activity demanded by many other games. 

Quoits. 

The game of quoits differs greatly from 
the celebrated Grecian exercise known by 
the same title. While the latter was mainly 
a test of strength, the modern game is a 
test of skill. The contest with Greek play¬ 
ers was as to who could throw the quoit or 
disk to the greatest distance. In the mod¬ 
ern game the purpose is to plant the quoit 
nearest a given spot, and needs no great 
strength if the distance be not great, though 
it may demand much skill. 

The quoit scarcely needs description. 
It is an iron ring, flat on one side and 
rounded on the other, coming to a flat edge 
outwardly, while of some thickness on the 
ring border. It may be of eight inches or 
less in diameter. On the outer edge is a 
small dent, in which the end of the fore¬ 
finger is placed, its use being to give a 
twirling or rotary motion to the quoit. 
This enables it to fly without wobbling in 
the air, and to fall in the same position in 
which it has been discharged. 

The only other requisites to the game 
are a flat piece of ground long enough for 
the intended throw, and two hobs of wood 
or iron, which serve as the marks to be 
aimed at. They are driven into the ground 
until only about an inch of them shows 
above the surface. 

When the sides have been chosen, the 
first player stands level with one of the 
hobs, and, taking a step forward with his 


28 o 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


left foot (or his right foot if he is left- 
handed), delivers the quoit by a swinging 
movement of the arm from behind him to 
the front. The quoit must fall and remain 
with its convex side uppermost, either em¬ 
bedded in the earth or clay, or else lying 
flat with the concave side on the ground. 
If it rolls along the ground and then stops, 
it does not count unless the cause of its 
rolling was a collision with some other 
quoit already delivered, or unless, after hav¬ 
ing been properly thrown, it is knocked out 
by another afterwards played. Many play¬ 
ers, however, count all quoits, whether they 
roll or not. The proper rule is that the 
players should follow each other in succes¬ 
sion. In a party of four it is usual for 
each player to have only one quoit. When 
all the quoits are thrown, the score is taken 
by measuring the distance from the hob to 
the nearest part of the nearest quoit, and 
the side which has thrown best scores one 
or two, according as his one or two quoits 
are better than any one thrown by the other 
side. But every “ringer,” or quoit which 
falls over the hob and remains with the hob 
enclosed within its ring, counts three ; and 
those resting with the edge on a hob count 
two points. The distance between the two 
hobs may be any one which the players 
select, and the game is generally reckoned 
at twenty-one points. 

Some skill is required to insure that the 
quoit, when it falls, shall cut directly into 
the soil, and so retain its place; and the 
more straight and steady its flight is, the less 
likely will it be to be disturbed or knocked 
out by a subsequent player. It is, of 
course, necessary to have a good eye, to 
judge not only of the distance to be thrown, 
but also of the space which remains open 
after the adversary’s quoit has been placed 
in a good position. The young player will 
do w^ell in practice not to stick constantly 
to the same limit of distance, but to change 
it by extending it to twenty, twenty-five, or 
even thirty yards, until he becomes strong 
enough to throw those distances without 
great fatigue or effort. 

Bowls (Nine or Ten Pins). 

The original game of bowls has been 
popular in Britain for many centuries, and, 


is still much played in Scotland. The 
bowlmg-green is a very carefully leveled 
lawm of smooth turf, over which the balls 
are rolled. A small ball of wood or earth¬ 
enware, the jack , is first rolled out, and 
serves as the mark at which all the players 
aim. The balls are made of lignum-vitae, 
and are of a peculiar shape, between the 
forms of an orange and an egg. The result 
is that when the ball is going slowly, just 
before coming to rest, it curls around in a pe¬ 
culiar manner, and it is in the control of this 
motion that the skill of the players consists. 

In the United States and England this 
old game has been succeeded by another, 
known as ten pins in this country, and in 
England as nine pins or skittles. In this 
game a wooden alley , carefully smoothed, 
is employed. The American alley is from 
50 to 65 feet long and about 4 feet wide, 
and is slightly convex in the centre and 
beveled to the sides. At one end of this 
wooden pins, about a foot in height and ten 
in number, are set up so as to form a tri¬ 
angle, its apex towards the player, who 
stands at the other end of the alley and 
bowls down its surface at the pins. 

The balls, usually of lignum-vitse, are 
spherical in shape, and of various sizes, the 
players being at liberty to use large or small 
balls as they prefer. The purpose is to 
knock down as many pins as possible in 
three throws. If all are knocked down in 
a single throw, they are set up again for a 
second. If any remain, they must be 
bowled at until the three throws are made. 

The highest score is thirty, made by 
knocking down all the pins three times in 
succession, a feat which it needs great skill 
to perform. 

This is a favorite indoor amusement, 
the bowling alleys being usually enclosed, 
so that their use is not stopped by inclement 
weather. It is an excellent'exercise for the 
muscles of the arms and chest, and is one of 
the most popular of games. 

Shovel or Shuffle Board. 

This game was once a national pastime 
in England, and was much played among 
fashionable people. There is a reference to 
it in Shakespeare’s “ Merry Wives of Wind¬ 
sor.” It is now played on tables about 25 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


281 


or 3o r feet long and 20 inches wide. The 
players stand at the end of the table, each 
having four flat metal weights, which they 
alternately shove down its length. At each 
end of the table a line is drawn parallel with 
the edge and five inches from it. At the 
end of the game each piece which lies over 
this line is counted “in,” and scores two 
points. If projecting over the end of the 
table, it scores three points. If no piece is 
“in,” that nearest the line counts one point. 
Twenty-one points constitute a game. The 
object of each player is to shuffle his own 
piece in, and to drive those of his opponents 
off the board. The game has recently grown 
quite popular in this country. 

Curling. 

This is a game of Scottish origin, resem¬ 
bling shovel board, but played on the ice. 
In playing it flat, circular stones of from 30 
to 50 pounds weight are used, each being 
furnished with a handle, for convenience in 
bowling. The rink is 42 yards long and 
8 or 9 wide. Near its end a circle, 14 feet 
in diameter, is drawn. Every stone, which 
at the end of the game is within this circle, 
counts. As above, it is a constant effort of 
the players to drive the curling stones of 
opponents out of the circle and replace them 
with their own. 

Archery. 

The fashion of sport changes. Archery 
is doubtless the most ancient of all sports, 


rendered so by its long use in war and the 
chase. Despite the variations in public 
taste, and the replacement of the bow as a 
weapon by far more effective ones, it has 
still its admirers, and archery is practiced 
by many enthusiastic advocates. As played 
it may take three forms, according to the 
choice of the players. 

Roving , the first of these, is a sort of 
skirmish practice. The archers wander 
about, shooting at any object which may 
take their fancy, a tree, a stray post, etc. 
The drawback to this method is the frequent 
loss of arrows. 

Flight shooting is a trial of strength 
rather than of skill, the purpose being to 
see who can send an arrow to the greatest 
distance. 

Target shooting is the usual method em¬ 
ployed, and is much the best test of skill. 
The targets aie set up at a distance of 60 to 
100 yards, and have on them several con¬ 
centric circles, the score increasing as the 
arrow enters an inner circle. The highest 
score, of course, is made when the arrow 
efiters the gold , or central circle, and the 
winning arrow is that which is nearest the 
actual centre. From the times of Robin 
Hood down to the present day skill in send¬ 
ing the arrow has been in vogue, and for an 
interesting description of the sport we may 
refer the reader to the feats of the forest 
archer as told in “ Ivanhoe,” one of Sir 
Walter Scott’s famous novels. 


ATHLETIC SPORTS 


Athletic sports, under which designation 
we class feats of pedestrianism and of hurl¬ 
ing heavy weights, but not oarsmanship or 
proficiency in pastimes, were popular pur¬ 
suits at schools many years before they were 
taken up by the universities, or before ath¬ 
letic clubs were formed among adults. 

The usual programme of an athletic 
sports contest runs very much as follows : 
Short distance race, long distance race, one 
or more races at intermediate distances, a 
hurdle race, high jump and broad jump, 
with sometimes a pole jump, putting the 
shot, and throwing the hammer or throwing 
the cricket ball. This last now seldom 
finds place in programmes among adult 


athletes. The usual sprint distance is 100 
yards. A mile race is almost de rigueur , 
and sometimes there is also a two or three 
mile race, and a steeplechase in addition, as 
a still further test of stamina. A quarter- 
mile, 600 yards, and half-mile race will 
also be often found for the benefit of those 
who can combine speed with a certain 
amount of stamina. Sometimes there is 
also a walking race. 

Sprinting. 

Under this head are classed races which 
do not exceed 440 yards. In order to pre¬ 
pare himself for a 100 yards race (irrespect¬ 
ive of the training), the candidate cannot 


282 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


do better than begin by steady walking ex¬ 
ercise, at a rate of four miles an hour, of 
about five miles in the day, to harden his 
muscles ; but much walking exercise should 
not be indulged in within a fortnight of a 
ioo yards race, as it has a tendency to make 
the knees and ankles stiff. He may run 
about 200 yards twice during his walk, but 
should only run briskly, not violently; 
while he is “ soft” it is a great mistake to 
put any undue strain on the ligaments of 
the body. As he becomes firmer in muscle, 
he may reduce the distance which he runs, 
and cover it more rapidly, until he can run 
the actual ioo yards at top speed. Still, it 
is wise not to run the course every day at 
his very best; the squeezing the last ounce 
out of the powers of the body too often tells 
a tale, even in so short a spin. If he runs 
the distance with two or three yards of his 
best powers this will do for two days out of 
three. Every third day he may see what 
he can really do, and try for himself where¬ 
abouts in the course he had best make his 
one principal rush. A 600 yards race is not 
frequently run at a uniform pace; there is 
some space which the runner covers at 
greater speed than any other. The runner 
should practice starts, which are all-import¬ 
ant in a short spin. He should stand thus : 
one foot (left for choice), about his own 
length and three inches more in front of its 
fellow, the body leaning very slightly for¬ 
ward, and the weight on the fore foot. 

Quarter=Mile Race. 

This is about the severest course which 
can be run; it requires both pace and 
stamina. The competitor should practice 
walking exercise in the same way as for 
shorter distance preparations, but he should 
run the racing distance only once a day, and 
not run the full distance at first; 250 yards 
will do to begin with, and this he can in¬ 
crease as he gets fitter till he reaches full 
distance. He should not run himself quite 
out more than twice a week, and should not 
do the whole course at full pace within 
three or four days of his race ; during the 
last day or two starts of 50 yards, and spins 
of 120, will suffice to keep him in trim. 
For a half-mile he should prepare himself 
in much the same way, but should double 


the preparatory and practice distances, be¬ 
ginning at 500 yards early in training* 

Mile Racing. 

For this more preparatory walking exer¬ 
cise is wanted, and the mile should be run 
daily at first, but to commence with the 
pace should be little more than a jog, at 
about two-thirds of the runner’s real powers. 
The .speed may be increased as practice pro¬ 
gresses, but the full distance should not be 
run out to the last gasp more than once a 
week, and not at all within four or five 
days, or even a week, of the race. The 
same for two miles, only that a still longer 
rest is needed between the last trial at full 
speed and the day of the race. 

Hurdle Racing. 

This class of race is too much reduced 
to a sort of “ sleight-of-toe ’ ’ among grown 
athletes. The distance and jumps are usu¬ 
ally uniform—120 yards and ten flights of 
hurdles, three feet six inches high, and ten 
yards apart. The runner practices his step 
for these, and would be quite thrown out if 
the distance between the flights or their 
height were suddenly varied unknown to 
him. With growing boys there is less like¬ 
lihood of the science of taking the hurdles 
in the stride becoming so studied, for their 
stride and strength, are daily varying with 
growth. The athlete may prepare himself 
as to exercise in the same way as for 100 
yards racing, and similarly practice starts. 
For a steeplechase the runner should com¬ 
bine the jumping practice of hurdle-racing 
with the preparation for long-distance run¬ 
ning. 

Jumping. 

This is a feat which has greatly progressed 
with practice of late years. A quarter of a 
century ago any one who could jump five 
feet was looked upon as a wonder; and four 
feet eight inches often won a college or 
public school competition. Now those who 
have a specialty for it practice it so much 
that they soon add a foot or two to their 
range. The competitor requires to get him¬ 
self as light as he can, and to avoid all heavy 
work with arms and back which may de¬ 
velop muscle where not wanted for jump¬ 
ing. The less lumber he carries the higher 


/ 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


283 


he will jump. He should practice daily, 
but never tire himself. The amount of run 
he takes to a high jump is very much a 
matter of taste, but a dozen feteps usually 
suffice. To time the take off is the great 
art, and the distance for taking off should 
be half the height of the jump, in front of 
the bar. The legs should be tucked well 
up, and the whole body thrown forward 
with just sufficient force to clear the bar, 
but all the rest of the power should be ex¬ 
pended on the upward spring. 

Two upright deals, with nails driven in, 
and holes bored to admit pegs, half an inch 
apart, with a light cross-bar laid on them, 
are all the apparatus needed for practice ; 
the height jumped should be measured, and 
a piece of paper may be laid down to mark 
the take off, until the eye gets used to the 
distance. The starting off and landing 
should both be from the toes. The jumper 
should be running at full speed when he 
takes his spring, as he thus gets the greatest 
possible impetus. 

Throwing the Hammer. 

This sport is Caledonian in origin. The 
regulation hammer is 16 lbs., and handle 
three feet six inches long ; but boys require 
a lighter one. The most effective way of 
throwing is to swing the hammer round the 
body twice, the arms fully extended, and 
with a run, swaying the whole body with it 
in the last half turn, then letting it go. 
The requisites are : 1. To let go in the 

right direction ; 2. Not to lift the head of 
the hammer higher than the hands in the 
swing ; 3. To time the step to the take off. 
It is a dangerous feat to be practised by a 
tyro within range of spectators ; he may let 
the hammer go at the wrong moment, and in 
the wrong direction. Seven feet is the regu¬ 
lation run. Plenty of dumb-bell exercise 
helps to harden the muscles of arms, shoul¬ 
ders, and neck for this feat, and for the next 
one mentioned. 

Putting the Weight. 

Sixteen pounds is the full-size shot for 
this feat, but young boys require a lighter 
one. The regulation run is seven feet, and 
the feet should not pass the scratch at or 
after delivery, The put must be with one 


hand (the right, as we presume the student 
to be right-handed). The putter stands on 
his right foot, with his right shoulder thrown 
back, and the weight on his right hand close 
to the shoulder. The left arm and leg are 
usually thrown forward to balance the body. 
Two hops are then taken on the right leg ; 
at the end of the second hop the left leg 
touches the ground, but the right shoulder 
is still kept back, and the weight of the 
body is still on the right leg. A spring is 
then taken, and the body swung rapidly 
round a half turn, so that when the weight 
leaves the hand the right shoulder and leg 
are forward, and the left shoulder and leg 
behind. The object it will thus be seen is 
to propel the weight by the swing of the 
body, and as little as possible by the arm. 
The body must be stopped after the weight 
leaves the hand, for if the line is crossed it 
is no put , although it counts as a try. 

Throwing the Cricket or Base Ball. 

Hardly a schoolboy is unable to shy , yet 
the strongest arm is not always the most 
propelling for a throw. The secret of 
throwing is to keep shoulder, elbow, and 
wrist joints all loose when the arm is drawn 
back; then to hurl out the arm, to let all 
three joints straighten simultaneously, and 
to let the missile quit the grasp at that junc¬ 
ture. If any one joint straightens before 
the other, or the delivery is not timed to co¬ 
incide with the triple straightening, power 
is lost. A run adds impetus to the throw. 

Walking. 

Boys seldom have walking races. The 
gait of a walking race is ungainly, and is 
more exhausting than a run of greater 
speed. The walker ties himself down to an 
action of limb which abandons all spring 
and impetus. In a run he flies through the 
air between the touch of alternate feet on 
the ground, and takes off with a spring from 
a bent knee. In a walk he must progress 
“ heel and toe.” The heel must touch the 
ground first, and one foot must always be 
on the ground, else the gait becomes a run. 
The knee must be straight when the foot is 
put down and taken up. The chief art in 
walking is to “ twist the hips.” By twist¬ 
ing them at each step the stride is lengthened 



284 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


and the leg carried forward by the swing 
of the loins, to the relief of the ordinary 
muscles which extend the leg , 

Training. 

Boys do not require the severe training 
for feats of speed or endurance which is 
requisite for older persons. They have not 
the same tendency to accumulate internal 
fat, and are less disposed to lose their wi?id. 
Nevertheless, they can improve their powers 
by hardening their muscles, and this they 
do with good food and exercise of the re¬ 
quired muscles. The standard maxim of 
training is that work trains, diet keeps the 
body up to the work. Diet alone will not 
train. It will suffice if boys are well fed on 
good roast joints or broiled meat (pork and 
veal barred), with a modicum of poultry or 
fish to vary the bill of fare, and plain pud¬ 
dings now and then. Jam and pastry should 
be eschewed in training. With adults lim¬ 
ited liquid is important, but it matters less 
with boys ; still, they had better not drench 
themselves with fluid, even though it be 
only water ; and just before a race the less 
they drink on the day the better, so long as 
they do not parch themselves thereby. They 
should have plenty of green vegetables,— 
spinach, asparagus, and French beans best; 
then cauliflower or cabbage; not peas or 
broad beans if they can get the other vege¬ 
tables mentioned. Potatoes will do them 
no harm, though objected to for adults in 
any quantity. Fresh fruit should also be 
taken in moderation ; also oranges, and a 
dried fig or tw r o at dinner. The great desid¬ 
erata are exercise and sleep ; of the latter at 
least nine hours, and with plenty of ventila¬ 
tion in the bedroom. Boys should not take 
exercise to any extent on very empty stom¬ 
achs, before breakfast; they should keep 
the pores of the skin open with a daily cold 
bath and free use of rough towels. Exercise 
should be taken in flannel, which should be 
changed when the work is over, and the 
body should be well wrapped up the moment 
exercise »$ suspended; sweating does no 
harm, but a chill may be fatal. Boys do 
not need great reduction in weight, and it 
is better not to take exercise in heavy cloth¬ 
ing for the sake of sweating off fat; they 
have little or no fat to get rid of. A boy 


should have fresh meat at least twice, and 
even thrice, a day; better three lighter 
meals of meat than two heavy gorges of it. 
Eggs may be taken, but not more than four 
or five in the week, less they produce bil¬ 
iousness ; and they should not be hard 
boiled. If the weather be sultry, more fluid 
to a half-pint may be taken at dinner, or 
lunch, or supper, but it had better be water 
or beef-tea, or water with a spoonful of lime- 
juice. At breakfast, not more than two 
cups of tea, which is better than coffee, and 
should not be too strong. 

Other Forms of Exercise. 

We have, in the above, by no means 
exhausted the list of athletic exercises. 
There are numerous other forms, such as 
riding, swimming, skating, cycling, rowing, 
wrestling, boxing, and gymnastics in their 
numerous varieties. We might go into long 
descriptions of each of these, but fear that 
we should be consuming space without 
profit to our readers. One cannot, for in¬ 
stance, learn to ride, to skate, to row, etc., 
by book directions, but must do so on the 
horse, in the boat, or on the ice. In other 
words, these are exercises in which prac¬ 
tice makes perfect, and which are to be 
acquired by observation and enterprise 
rather than by precept. There is a training 
required, but that will come best from the 
suggestions of comrades in the exercise, and 
the use of the eyes and the mind as well as 
the hands. For the above reasons we de¬ 
sist from offering rules for the varied 
athletic exercises above named, but may 
say something about the latest and one of 
the most popular among them, the use of 
the bicycle. 

Cycling. 

The bicycle is of recent invention. 
From the boneshaker of 1862, a stiff and 
fearful affair to bestride, it progressed 
rapidly to the “perfect machine ” of 1872, 
a lofty wheel lifting the rider from four to 
five feet in the air, and giving him a fright¬ 
ful ‘ ‘ header ’ ’ when a stone was encoun¬ 
tered. In 1885 the “ Safety ” first made its 
appearance, and in the years that followed 
the tall wheels utterly vanished, the low 
ones proving capable of greater speed and 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


285 


yielding much more security. Since then 
invention has succeeded invention, and the 
bicycle of to-day is a marvel of strength, 
comfort and speed. 

We do not propose to tell how to ride a 
bicycle. That must be learned through 
practice and the aid of experienced friends. 
It will suffice to say that the most difficult 
thing to learn is how to mount, and the 
next how to dismount—with safety, we 
mean; many tyros dismount with more 
rapidity than comfort. To propel the wheel 
when once seated is the easiest part of the 
task. There is nothing that looks easier 
than to see an experienced rider vault into 
his seat and pedal swiftly away, but such 
skill is rarely attained without bruises and 
vexation of spirit. 

The rider’s cares are not over when he 
has learned to pedal, to mount, and to dis¬ 
mount. There are rules of the road to 
learn. He must become aware of the fact 
that, though he cannot go too fast in a 
straight line, he must ease up at a corner if 
he wishes to go round, and must learn to 


lean inwards at curves. He will find, also, 
that only very skillful riders can descend 
hills without brakes, and it is not wise for 
any to attempt it. He must become familiar 
with traffic, and take care to observe the 
same rules of the road that apply to car¬ 
riages, namely, to keep to the right, whether 
meeting or passing. He needs to carry his 
tools on his outings, for accidents are very 
likely to occur, and on a country road he 
should put some money in his purse, for 
tolls are exacted even for this very light¬ 
wheeled vehicle. 

We may say something here about the 
records for speed made by bicycle riders, 
with which even the horse cannot compete. 
The best mile record, made by Major Tay¬ 
lor at Chicago, in 1899, is 1 min. 22! sec. 
Of amateur records, the best for one mile is 
1 min. 49 1 sec. For greater distances, the 
best 10-mile record is 14 min. 25 sec. ; 25 
miles, 37 min. o2§ sec. ; 40 miles, 59 min. 
43I sec. ; and 50 miles, 1 hour, 22 min. 22f 
sec. The best six days’ record is 2,192 
miles. 


PLAYGROUND GAMES 


The games of the playground vary widely 
in character, including many schoolboy 
ball games, hoop trundling, and various 
sports in which exercise is organized into 
the form of a pastime. We shall speak here 
only of those that take most the form of 
games of skill and training. 

Marbles. 

We shall not tell our young friends how 
to shoot their marbles. None of them will 
lack tutors in this art. Marbles are never 
played as a solitary exercise ; a contest is 
always to be decided, and a penalty is usu¬ 
ally exacted, the loser paying a forfeit in 
marbles to the winner. 

Of the several games of marbles, proba¬ 
bly the best is that known as ring taw. 
In this a piece of fairly smooth ground is 
chosen, on which is drawn a circle of about 
one foot in diameter. Six or seven feet out¬ 
side this is drawn a large circle. Each 
player puts one or more marbles into the 
inner circle, placing them at about equal 
distances apart. From the outer circle, or taw 


line , the players shoot their marbles, or 

taws. 

The opening player shoots at the marbles 
in the ring. If he knocks any out, he wins 
them, and has a second shot from the spot 
where his taw lies. If he fails, another 
player takes his place. Each player can 
shoot at the marbles in the ring, or at any 
of his opponents’ taws that lie within the 
circles. If he hits one of these he wins a 
marble from its owner and has another shot; 
but cannot shoot again immediately at the 
same taw. Thus the game proceeds till the 
ring is cleared. 

Tops. 

Tops have long been favorite toys and 
afford much healthful recreation. There are 
two classes of them, the mechanical type 
such as the globe and the humming tops 
and the old-fashioned peg and whipping 
tops, which can only be set in motion by the 
player. The latter are still the prime favor¬ 
ites, and the only kind with which an^ 
game can be played. 


286 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


It is the peg top in particular which 
every schoolboy is anxious to possess and 
to be able to spin, and more games are 
played with it than with all other kinds of 
tops. Peg tops are pear-shaped, with an 
iron peg inserted at the pointed end. They 
are made of various kinds of wood, the best 
of them being made of hard boxwood. 

The pegs of the tops differ very much, 
both in shape and size, some being short 
and thick, some medium ; others again are 
long and tapering. Generally speaking, it 
may be said that a top with a short thick 
peg is likely to spin steadily—to go to sleep, 
as it were, while spinning ; whereas the top 
with a long thin peg travels about a good 
deal, and is very active in its movements. 
These characteristics will be found to be 
more or less developed according to the 
shortness or length of the peg. 

To spin a peg top successfully is not to 
be come at by chance ; it must be patiently 
practiced, and then only will the player be 
able to make a top spin as he may wish. 
The following remarks are, however, given 
for the guidance of novices, as carrying out 
these instructions is essential to spin a top 
at all. A piece of cord, varying according 
to the size of the top, should be procured, 
and to it at one end should be attached an 
ordinary shank or livery button; at about 
an inch from the other end a knot should be 
very tightly tied, the length beyond the 
knot being raveled out. The top should 
then be taken in the left hand, the string or 
cord being held in the right. The unraveled 
end of the string, slightly moistened, is then 
to be laid along the side of the top, at the 
point where the peg is driven into the 
wood. 

It will be observed that the lower end of 
the top is marked with a coil of slight cir¬ 
cular grooves. Round the top in these 
grooves the cord is to be wound over the 
moistened and unraveled end of the cord 
until the button at the other end can be 
placed, and held tightly between and behind 
the two last fingers of the right hand, and 
with the thumb at the same time placed on 
the peg. The whole toy so held is then to 
be lifted above the head, and thrown in a 
curved line smartly to the ground, the cord 
being retained in the hand by the button 


secured between the two last fingers. Just 
before the string finally leaves the top it 
should be jerked, in order that any tendency 
to adhere on the part of the moistened end 
may be counteracted. It should be stated 
here that it is in the peculiar manner in 
which this jerk is performed that given 
kinds of spinning are obtained ; but on this 
subject no general instructions will be of 
any avail: the results of the different jerks 
must be noticed and acted upon. 

Peg=in=the=Ring. 

The preceding remarks on the peg-top 
having been duly studied, the game of Peg- 
in- the-Ring may next be proceeded with, 
and it will be found that it is the best of the 
peg-top games. It should be played as fol¬ 
lows : A circle, about three feet in diameter, 
has to be drawn on the ground, and then 
it has to be decided who shall first cast his 
top into the circle or ring, and the order of 
the succeeding players. The first player 
casts his top within the ring, and whilst it 
continues spinning the others are at liberty 
to peg their tops at it, or at the top of any 
other player who may have in the meantime 
cast in. So -soon as all the players have 
cast in their tops, the first player may re¬ 
move his, and himself peg at the others, and 
then the second, and so on ; but after the 
first round no more than one top may be 
taken up until another has been cast. 

Should any player fail to spin his top 
when he throws it, or fail to cast it within 
the ring, or take the top up from the ring, 
except in the proper order, or should it, on 
ceasing to spin, lie in the ring, the top is 
called “ dead,” and either is set in the mid¬ 
dle of the ring or left where it falls, as the 
case may be, for the others to peg at. Any 
top hopping out of the ring, while still 
spinning, may be taken up out of the proper 
order, and the owner has an additional right 
to peg at those tops within the ring. If a 
top that is dead should chance to be pegged 
out of the ring, it becomes alive again, and 
the owner may at once, without waiting his 
proper turn, resume his play with it. 

The object of each player is either to 
split the tops of his companions, and thereby 
gain the pegs of the tops as trophies, or by 
striking his companions’ tops beyond the 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


boundaries of the ring, enabling them to 
resume their play. 

Battledore and Shuttlecock. 

This is a game indulged in by adults as 
well as by the youngsters, but although a 
capital game, in that it affords good exer¬ 
cise and amusement, it is not so popular as 
once it was. Ordinarily, battledores are 
either made entirely of wood, or else with 
wooden handles and “ drum” heads of 
parchment. A more expensive kind of 
battledore is made of boxwood for handle, 
with a strained net, like the bat used in 
lawn tennis. Either of the first two may be 
purchased for a small sum at any toy shop, 
and they will be found much better than 
home-made battledores. The shuttlecock 
also is better bought than made ; it consists 
mainly of a bit of cork, in which goose- 
feathers of equal size have been stuck ob¬ 
liquely. 

The object of the game when played by 
one player is, after having thrown the 
shuttlecock into the air, to keep it bounding 
and rebounding as long as possible by re¬ 


• 287 

peated strokes of the bat end of the battle¬ 
dore. It will be found that the shuttlecock 
ascends and descends with the feathers 
downwards and upwards respectively. 
When more than one player indulges in the 
game, the players should be stationed at 
equal distances round the ground, each 
armed with a battledore, and by the aid of 
the battledores a shuttlecock, or more than 
one if it is desired, should be kept passing 
round and round. 

Graces or Grace Hoops. 

In this game two players are each pro¬ 
vided with a small hoop and two sticks, and 
the game is to throw the hoops from the 
sticks and to catch them again on the sticks 
in the same succession as the bags are 
thrown and caught in the game of that 
name. 

The hoops are also sometimes thrown 
from both sticks, and caught on one or both, 
according to the wish or ability of the play¬ 
ers ; the object being not to allow the hoops 
to fall to the ground. This game is some¬ 
times called by its French name, Ees Graces. 


INDOOR AMUSEMENTS 


We do not know who invented the great 
number of old-fashioned round or parlor 
games which have given entertainment to 
many generations of young people. The 
origin of most of them is lost in the ob¬ 
scurity of the past, but they are played to¬ 
day with all the old vim and heartiness. 
To these inventors the world owes a great 
sum of enjoyment. They have done much 
to break up the monotony of ordinary so¬ 
cial intercourse, have taught people how to 
laugh and be merry within doors, and many 
an evening which would otherwise have 
passed in dull weariness has been enlivened 
and made joyful by some of these lively old 
games. We, therefore, give a number of 
the most attractive of these indoor amuse¬ 
ments for the benefit of our readers, and 
shall add several games of recent invention. 

Acting Proverbs. 

In this game each player may take a 
part, or, if thought preferable, the com¬ 


pany may divide themselves into actors and 
spectators. The actors then each fix upon 
a proverb which is to be represented by 
every one of them individually. There is 
to be no connection between them in any 
way. Each one in turn has simply to act 
before the rest of the company the proverb 
he has selected. The first player might, for 
instance, come into the room holding a cup 
in his hand ; then, by way of acting his 
proverb, he might repeatedly make an ap¬ 
pearance of attempting to drink out of the 
cup, but of being prevented each time by 
the cup slipping out of his hands, thus in 
dumb show illustrating the proverb, 
“ There’s many a slip between the cup and 
the lip.” The second might come into the 
room rolling a ball, a footstool, or anything 
else that would do to represent a stone. 
After rolling it about for some time he takes 
it up and examines it with astonishment, as 
if something were wanting that he expected 
to find on it, making it, perhaps, too plainly 


288 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


evident to the company that the proverb he 
is aiming to depict is the familiar one of 
“A rolling stone gathers no moss.” If 
really good acting be thrown into this 
game, it may be made exceedingly inter¬ 
esting. 

The Adjective Game. 

A sheet of paper and a pencil are given 
to the players, upon which each is re¬ 
quested to write five or six adjectives. In 
the meantime one of the company under¬ 
takes to improvise a little story, or, which 
will do quite as well, is provided with some 
short narrative from a book. 

The papers are then collected, and the 
story is read aloud, the reader of the same 
substituting for the original adjectives those 
supplied by the company on their papers, 
placing them, without any regard to sense, in 
the order in which they have been received. 

The result will be something of this 
kind : ‘ ‘ The sweet heron is a bird of a 

hard shape, with a transparent head and an 
agitated bill, set upon a hopeful neck. Its 
picturesque legs are put far back in its 
body, the feet and claws are false, and the 
tail very new-fangled. It is a durable dis¬ 
torted bird, unsophisticated in its move¬ 
ments, with a blind voice, and tender in its 
habits. In the mysterious days of falconry 
the places where the heron bred were 
counted almost shy, the bird was held to be 
serious game, and slight statutes were en¬ 
acted for its preservation,” and so on. 

Consequences. 

The old-fashioned game of Conse¬ 
quences is played in the following manner. 
The players are each provided with pencil and 
paper. Then the leader of the game re¬ 
quests that each shall write one or 77 iore ad¬ 
jectives at the top of his or her paper, and' 
fold it down so as to conceal what has been 
written. Then each passes this paper to 
the right-hand neighbor, who writes on it 
the name of a gentleman , and folds and 
passes it onward again. Then one or 7 nore 
adjectives are written ; then a lady's 7 iame ; 
then where they met; then what he gave her ; 
then zvhat he said to her ; then what she said 
to him; then the consequences; lastly what 
the world said about it. 


Each time anything is written the paper 
must be folded and passed on. At the end, 
the papers are collected and read by the 
leader. The result is generally very absurd 
and amusing. It might, for instance, be 
something of this kind: “The happy, 
e 7 iergetic (i) Mr. Jones (2) met the modest 
(3) Miss Smith (4) in Lover's Lane (5). 
He gave her a sly glance (6) and said to her, 
‘ Do you love the 7 noon f ' (7). She replied, 
‘ Not if I know it' (8). The consequence 
was they sanr a duet (9), and the world 
said, ‘ Served them right' " (10). 

The Clairvoyant. 

In this game one of the company stand¬ 
ing outside the room is, strange to say, able 
to describe what is passing inside. A 
dialogue such as would have to be carried 
on between the principal players will best 
describe the game, and show how it is to be 
played : 

“ Do you quite remember how the room is fur¬ 
nished in which we are sitting ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ Do you remember the color of the chairs ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ Do you know the ornaments on the mantel¬ 
piece ? ” 

“Ido.” 

“ And the vase of flowers ? ” 

“ I do.” 

“ The old china in the cabinet ? ” 

“ Yes. ” 

“The stuffed birds? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You think there is nothing in the room that 
has escaped your notice ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“Then please tell me what I am now touch¬ 
ing ? ” 

“You are touching the vase of flowers.” 

T he vase of flowers was the only obj ect pre¬ 
ceded by the word ‘ ‘ and ’ ’ by the questioner, 
and this at once guides the clairvoyant to 
the proper answer. The fun of the game 
consists in puzzling those of the company 
to whom the secret is unknown. 

There are other games in which similar 
methods are employed. In “This and 
That,” for instance, “that” is the word 
suggesting the answer. The company 
chooses an object, and asks, “ Was it the 
desk?” “ Was it this book ? ” “Was it that 
chair?” etc. The answer “Yes” follow? 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


289 


the chair question. In the “Magic An¬ 
swer ’ ’ the word selected is to follow a ques¬ 
tion concerning something having four legs. 
Several questions may be followed by “Was 
it a rabbit ? ’ * “No;” “Was it a purse?” 
“Yes.” Of course, other guiding words 
may be employed. 

Twenty Questions. 

This is a pastime requiring some range 
of information. One person chooses a word 
denoting some substance, object, etc., a sub¬ 
stance being some natural material, an ob¬ 
ject some product of manufacture. The 
other players try to discover it by asking 
questions in turn, twenty being allowed. 
The answers are confined to “Yes” and 
“ No,” except to such questions as “ Is it 
animal, vegetable, or mineral ? ” Each an¬ 
swer suggests a new question, such as “Is 
it useful or ornamental ? ” “Is it manufac¬ 
tured or natural?” etc. Much ingenuity 
may be shown in framing the questions, 
and a shrewd questioner will usually solve 
the problem before the twenty questions are 
asked. 

Magical Music. 

This is a game in which music is made 
to take a prominent part. On one the 
company volunteering to leave the uom, 
some particular article agreed upon is hid¬ 
den. On being recalled, the person, ignor¬ 
ant of the hiding-place, must commence a 
diligent search, taking the piano as his 
guide. The loud tones will mean that he 
is very near the object of his search, and 
the soft tones that he is far from it. An¬ 
other method of playing the same game is 
for the person who has been out of the room 
to try to discover on his return what the re¬ 
mainder of the company desire him to do. 
It may be to pick up something from the 
floor, to take off his coat, to look at himself 
in the glass, or anything else as absurd. 
The only clue afforded him of solving the 
riddle must be the loud or soft tones of the 
music. 

The Magic Hats. 

Though the following trick cannot ex¬ 
actly be designated a Round Game, it may 
be performed by one of the company with 
great success during an interval of rest from 

19 H 


playing. The performer begins by placing 
his own hat, along with another which he 
has borrowed, on the table, crown upwards. 
He then requests that the sugar-basin may 
be produced, from which on its arrival a 
lump is selected and given to him. Taking 
it in his fingers, he promises, by some won¬ 
derful process, that he will swallow the 
sugar, and then, within a very short time, 
will let its position be under one of the two 
hats on the table, the company may decide 
which hat it shall be. It is generally sus¬ 
pected that a second lump of sugar will be 
taken from the basin, if it can be done with¬ 
out observation, consequently all eyes are 
fixed upon it. Instead of that, after swal¬ 
lowing the sugar the performer places the 
selected hat upon his own head, thus, of 
course, fulfilling his undertaking. 

Hunt the Slipper. 

This surely must be one of our oldest 
games, and one, no doubt, that our grand¬ 
mothers and grandfathers played at when 
they were children. The players all seat 
themselves, like so many tailors, on the 
floor in a ring, so that their toes all meet. 
A slipper (the smaller the better) is then 
produced, and given by the person outside 
to one sitting in the circle, with instructions 
that it must be mended by a certain day. 
Finding it not finished at the time ap¬ 
pointed, the pretended owner declares that 
he must have it as it is, and thereupon com¬ 
mences the hunt. How it is carried on is 
no doubt too well-known to need further 
explanation. 

Hunt the Ring. 

The game of Hunt the Ring is perhaps 
better liked than Hunt the Slipper, on ac¬ 
count of its being in the estimation of most 
people more convenient and manageable. 
Either a ring or a small key may be used for 
the purpose. Whichever it is, a string must 
be passed through it, and the ends fastened 
in a knot, forming thus a circular band. 
The company then stand in a circle, allow¬ 
ing the string to pass through the hands of 
each person, and enabling every one to slide 
the ring easily along from one to the other. 
The object of the player standing inside the 
circle is to stop it in its progress, which, in 


2 go 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


most cases, he finds a rather difficult task. 
The game is also frequently played without 
any string, when every one tries, of course, 
to pass the ring round very rapidly, without 
being detected by the hunter. 

Hunt the Whistle. 

This- game is always successful, and a 
source of great amusement, if only some 
one ignorant of the secret can be found who 
will volunteer to act as hunter. Such per¬ 
son is first requested to kneel down while 
some lady goes through the ceremony of 
conferring upon him the order of knighthood. 
During the process, the whistle, attached 
to a piece of ribbon, is pinned to the coat of 
the newly made knight. He is then told 
to rise and go in quest of the whistle, which 
is in the possession of one of the party. 
The hunt now begins, the players all trying 
to deceive their victim in every way im¬ 
aginable, and to make him think that they 
are passing the whistle from one to another. 
On every possible occasion, of course, the 
whistle should be sounded, until the deluded 
knight has made the discovery that the 
object of his search is fastened to himself. 

Blind Han’s Buff. 

A handkerchief must be tied over the 
eyes of some one of the party who has vol¬ 
unteered to be blind man ; after which he 
is turned round three times, then let loose 
to catch any one he can. As soon as he 
has succeeded in laying hold of one of his 
friends, if able to say who it is he is 
liberated, and the handkerchief is trans¬ 
ferred to the eyes of the newly-made captive, 
who in his turn becomes blind man. This 
position the new victim must hold until, 
like his predecessor, he shall succeed in 
catching some one, and naming correctly 
the person he has caught. 

Shadow Buff. 

This game, if well played, may be pro¬ 
ductive of much merriment. A large white 
sheet is first being hung securely on one 
side of the room, and on a table some dis¬ 
tance behind a very bright lamp must be 
placed. All other lights being extinguished, 
one of the party takes a seat on a low stool 
between the lamp and the sheet, but nearer 


the latter than the former. One after an¬ 
other the company pass behind him, their 
shadows of course falling upon the sheet as 
they pass. It is much more difficult than 
most people would imagine to guess the ori¬ 
ginal from the shadow, especially as in this 
game it is allowable for the players to dis¬ 
guise themselves to some slight extent. 
Gestures of any kind may be practiced, 
masks may be worn, false noses, or any¬ 
thing else of the kind, to render the work of 
the guesser more difficult, for this always 
tends very considerably to add to the general 
fun. 

Simon Says. 

In this game an imaginary Simon is the 
presiding genius, and the orders of no one 
but Simon are to be obeyed. The leader of 
the company generally begins by saying, 
“ Simon says, ‘ Thumbs up,’ ” when every 
one must immediately obey the command of 
Simon or incur the penalty of paying a for¬ 
feit. Simon may then say, “Wink your 
left eye,” “Blow your nose,” “Kiss your 
neighbor,” or anything equally absurd. 
Whatever Simon says must be done. No 
command, however, not prefaced by the 
words “ Simon says,” is to be regarded. 
With the idea of winning forfeits, the leader 
will endeavor to induce the company to do 
certain things not authorized by Simon— 
indeed, the fun of the game consists in every 
one doing the wrong thing instead of the 
right one, and in having a good collection 
of forfeits. 

How Do You Like Your Neighbor? 

The company must seat themselves round 
the room, leaving plenty of space in the 
middle for passing to and fro. One person 
left standing then begins the game by put¬ 
ting the question, “ How do you like your 
neighbor?” to anyone he pleases. The an¬ 
swer must be either “ Not at all ” or “ Very 
much. ’ ’ Should the reply be “ Not at all, ” 
the lady or gentleman is requested to say 
what other two members of the company 
would be preferred instead as neighbors, 
when the new neighbors and the old must 
immediately change places. During the 
transition the questioner may endeavor to 
secure a seat for himself, leaving out one of 
the four who have been struggling for seats 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


to take the place of questioner. When the 
reply “ Very much ’ ’ is given, every one in 
the room must change places. The ques¬ 
tioner, therefore, will easily find a seat for 
himself, and the person left standing must 
take his place as interrogator. 

How, When, and Where ? 

In this game, as in others, a word is 
chosen by the company, containing as many 
meanings as possible, the person who has 
volunteered to be the questioner having 
previously gone out of the room. On being 
recalled, the person who has been out begins 
by asking each of his friends how they like it. 

Supposing the word ‘ ‘ cord ’ ’ to have 
been chosen, the first player might answer 
slight , the next sweet , meaning chord , the 
next loud , the next strong, and so on until 
all have said how they liked it. The ques¬ 
tioner then recommences his interrogations 
at the first player by inquiring “ When do 
you like it ?’ ’ Replies to this question some¬ 
thing like the following may be given :— 
“ When I am preparing to take a journey 
“When I am in church;” “When I am 
driving;” “When I feel musical.” Then 
to the last question—‘ ‘ Where do you like 
it?” the company may repfy—“ In a piano ;” 
“ In the garden ;” “ Not round my neck ;” 
“Always at hand ” etc. No doubt long 
before all the questions have been answered 
the word that has been chosen will have 
been discovered. 

Forfeits. 

These old fashioned games, of which we 
have given some of the best known and 
most popular out of a large number, are apt 
to be followed by a series of amusing for¬ 
feits, exacted from the losers in the game. 
Many young people think that the forfeits 
are more amusing than the games them¬ 
selves, and that the best part of the evening 
comes when forfeit time arrives. 

The person deputed to pronounce judg¬ 
ment on those of his friends who have to pay 
the forfeits may either invent something on 
the spur of the moment, or make use of 
what he has seen in a book or has stored in 
his memory. Originality in such cases is 
often the best, simply because the sentence is 
made to suit, or rather ?iot to suit the victim ; 


291 

and the object of course of all these forfeit 
penances is to make the performers look ab¬ 
surd. For those players, however, who in 
preference to anything new still feel inclined 
to adopt the well-known good old-fashioned 
forfeits, we supply a list of as many as will 
meet ordinary requirements. 

1. Bite an inch off the Poker. —This is dotie by 
holding the poker the distance of an inch from the 
mouth, and performing an imaginary bite. 

2. Kiss the lady you love best without any one 
knowing it. —To do this the gentleman must of 
course kiss all the ladies present, the one he most 
admires taking her turn among the rest. 

3. Kneel to the wittiest , bow to the prettiest, 
and kiss the one you love best. —These injunctions 
may, of course, be obeyed in the letter or in the 
spirit, just as the person redeeming the forfeit feels 
inclined to do. 

4. Put yourself through the keyhole. —To do 
this the word “ Yourself ” is written upon a piece 
of paper, which is rolled up and passed through the 
keyhole. 

5. Sit tipon the fire. —The trick in this forfeit is 
like the last one. Upon a piece of paper the words, 
“ The fire,” are written, and then sat upon. 

6. Take one of your friends upstairs and bring 
him down tipon a feather. —Any one acquainted 
with this forfeit is sure to choose the stoutest per¬ 
son in the room as his companion to the higher 
regions. On returning to the room the redeemer 
of the forfeit will be provided w T ith a soft feather, 
covered with down, which he will formerly present 
to his stout companion, obeying, therefore, the 
command to bring him down upon a feather. 

7. Kiss a book inside and outside without open¬ 
ing it. —This is done by first kissing the book in the 
room, then taking it outside and kissing it there. 

8 . Put one hand where the other cannot touch 
it. —This is done by merely holding the right elbow 
with the left hand. 

9. Kiss the candlestick. —Request a young lady 
to hold a lighted candle, and then steal a kiss from 
her. 

10. Laugh in one corner of the room , sing in 
another , cry in another , and dance in another 

11. The German Batid. —In this charming little 
musical entertainment, three or four of the com¬ 
pany can at the same time redeem their forfeits. 
An imaginary musical instrument is given to each 
one—they themselves must have no choice in the 
matter—and upon these instruments they must per¬ 
form as best they can. 

12. The Sentence. —A certain number of letters 
are given to the forfeit player, who must use each 
one in the order in which it is given him for the 
commencement of a word. All the words, when 
made, must then form a sentence—placing the 
words in their proper order exactly as the letters 
with which they begin were given. 

13. Kiss your own shadow. —The most pleasant 
method of executing this command is to hold a 
lighted candle so that your shadow may fall on a 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


292 


young lady’s face, when you must take the oppor¬ 
tunity of snatching a kiss. 

14. Act the diimmy. —You must do whatever 
any of the company wish you to perform without 
speaking a single word. 

15. Show the spirit of contrary. —The idea in 
this imposition is the same as in the game of con¬ 
trary. Whatever the player is told to do, he must 
do just the contrary. 

16. The deaf man. —This cruel punishment con¬ 
sists in the penitent being made to stand in the 
middle of the room, acting the part of a deaf man. 
In the meantime the company invite him to do 
certain things, which they know will be very agree¬ 
able to him. To the first three invitations he must 
reply—“ I am deaf; I can’t hear.” To the fourth 
invitation he must reply—“ I can hear and how¬ 
ever disagreeable the task may be, he must hasten 
to perform it. It is needless to say the company 
generally contrive that the last invitation shall be 
anything but pleasant. 

17. Make your will. —The victim in this case is 
commanded to say what he will leave as a legacy to 
every one of his friends in the room. To one he 
may leave his black hair, to another his eyebrows, 
to another (perhaps a lady) his ^ess coat, to an¬ 
other his excellent common sense, to another his 
wit, and so on until every one in the room has been 
remembered. 

18. Spell Constantinople. —This trick, as most 
people are aware, consists in calling out “ No, no!” 
to the speller when he has got as far as the last syl¬ 
lable but one. Thus he begins : “ C-o-n con, s-t-a-n, 
stan, t-iti.” Here voices are heard crying “No, 
no !” which interruption, unless the victim be pre¬ 
pared for it, may lead him to imagine that he has 
made a mistake. 

19. The Blind dancers. —Among players who 
are not anxious to prolong the ordeal of forfeit cry¬ 
ing any longer than is necessary, the following 
method of redeeming several for f ~\ts at once may 
be acceptable:—Eight victims chosen to be 
blindfolded, and while in this ''"■ndition are re¬ 
quested to go through the first fig"*-e of a quadrille. 

20. The cats' concert. —This is another method 
of redeeming any number of forf^'ts at once. The 
players who have their forfeits to redeem are re¬ 
quested to place themselves together in a group, 
when, at a signal from the leader- *hey all begin to 
sing any tune they like. The eftecs, as may well be 
imagined, is far from melodious & r soothing. 


illustrative examples of these. In the game 
above named the leader reads slowly a pre¬ 
pared list of characteristics of noted people. 
If these do not lead to a knowledge of the 
person meant, there is another guide in the 
fact that the initials of the person’s name 
are repeated in the phrases used. We give 
a list, which any one is welcome to add to: 


LITERARY. 

Happy Children Appear.H. C. Anderson 

Explains Asia.Edwin Arnold 

England’s Bright Bard.E. B. Browning 

Rustic Bard.Robert Burns 

Terrible Complainer.Thomas Carlyle 

Tragic Career.Thomas Chatterton 

Shakepeare’s Truest Critic . . . . S. T. Coleridge 

A Clever Doctor.A. Conan Doyle 

Recognized Wisdom Everywhere . R. W. Emerson 

Touching Humanity.Thomas Hood 

Wonderfully Interesting . . . Washington Irving - 

Charming Levity.Charles Lamb 

Truthful Negro Portraits .... Thomas N. Page 

Perished By Sea.P. B. Shelley 

Her Books Sell.H. B. Stowe 

Beguiling Traveler.Bayard Taylor 

What Magical Talent.W. M. Thackeray 

Makes Travesties . . . *.Mark Twain 

Charming, Delightful Writer . . . . C. D. Warner 
Neat Parlor Writer.N. P. Willis 


HISTORICAL. 

Naturally Belligerent .... Napoleon Bonaparte 

Opposed Cavaliers.Oliver Cromwell 

Ever Elegant.Edward Everett 

Protested Hotly.Patrick Henry 

Always Loyal.Abraham Lincoln 

Marvelous Light.Martin Luther 

War's Triumphant Soldier . . . . W. T. Sherman 

Noted Words.. Noah Webster 

Great Warrior.George Washington 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Perfectly Tremendous Boaster . . . P. T. Barnum 

Best Broadcloth.Beau Brummel 

Well-Earned Glory .... William E. Gladstone 

Thoroughly Honest.Thomas Hughes 

Hamlet’s Interpreter.Henry Irving 

He Made Search.H. M. Stanley 


Characteristics. 

The games we have given are selected 
from the old-fashioned ones, many of which 
have been in vogue for centuries. They 
are largely adapted to young people, who 
care chiefly for lively fun and boisterous 
mirth. There are many other evening recre¬ 
ations of recent origin and quieter char¬ 
acter, frequently based upon a wide knowl¬ 
edge of literature, geography, or other 
fields of information, We append some 


A Trip Round the World. 

Geography furnishes an abundant oppor¬ 
tunity for symbolic suggestions, which may 
be given in the way of questions and 
answers, or, more entertainingly, may be 
taken in character. Thus a man may enter 
the room wearing his hat, and keep it on 
until some quick guesser calls out ‘ ‘ Man¬ 
hattan.” Another has thrust into his but¬ 
tonhole a large fishhook covered with sand. 
This is evidently Sandy Hook. There may 






























1. Crokinole Board.—Placed on table; may be played by 2, 3 or 4 persons, each shooting in turn and having six disks. 
55. Chess Board, and Men.—A game for two persons—one of the oldest games. 3. Cribbage Board.— Fot keeping score in 
Whist, Cribbage, etc. 4. Checkers.—A game played by two persons on board laid off in squares and with twelve pieces each 
called men. 5 . Battledore and Shuttle Cock.—Played by two or more persons each with a battledore or racket with which 
he strikes the shuttlecock to drive it. 6. Dominoes.—An old and familiar game played with pieces marked with white faces and 
black dots. The numbers of dots runs in singles and doubles to double sixes or double twelves. 7. Jack Straws.—A popular 
game for children consisting of thin pieces of wood, straw or bone of various shapes, each to be hooked from a confused pile w ith a 
hook without disturbing the rest. 8. Grace Hoops.—A pleasing game which cultivates grace of movement. J t consists of light 
hoops and sticks for tossing back and forth and catching. 9. Ball.—Used in many indoor and outdoor sports. 10. Parchisi. 
—Played on a square board by two or four persons, each having four flat pieces or men and two pieces of dice. 

















































































LAWN TENNIS 

A delightful game for both sexes and deservedly popular everywhere. 


Recommended both or recreation an-i hr-. i'. 



A GAME OF FOOTBALL 

This game is the most popular of America* sports, and especially with boys of schools and colleges. Id this 
country the "Rugby” game is popular, while in other countries "Association Rules” prevail. 















PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


293 


enter a boy dressed in buff, with a halo over 
his head. He evidently signifies Buffalo ; 
and the girl dressed in green, the trimming 
in deep points, can only be Greenpoint. A 
lady carrying a set of dolls dressed as boys, 
each bearing the name “Benny,” clearly 
signifies Albany. 

Many others might be named. A large 
bright-colored letter C stands for Seabright. 
Turkey, Little Rock, Yellowstone, and 
various others could be similarly indicated, 
as by whittling a piece of wood into the 
shape of an ark to signify Newark, or in¬ 
dicating Saxony by a bunch of bright 
yarns. These hints may suggest many 
other examples, some of them very appro¬ 
priate. 

A Penny for Your Thoughts. 

A pleasant entertainment may be had 
by the simple device of asking a company 
to think of how many things they can find 
symbolized on the smallest American ccin. 
All the apparatus needed is cents enough 
to go around, and cards, with pencils, for 
each guest, on which to write their answers. 
The one with the largest number of correct 
answers wins the game. The following is 
the list: 

1 A messenger? One cent (sent). 

2 A11 ancient punishment ? Stripes. 

3 Means of inflicting it ? Lashes. 

4 A piece of armor ? Shield. 

5 A devoted young man ? Bow (beau). 

6 A11 African fruit ? Date. 

7 A place of worship ? Temple. 

8 Part of a hill? Brow. 

9 Spring flowers? Tulips. 

10 Three weapons ? Arrows. 

11 The first American ? Indian. 

12 Emblem of victory ? Laurel wreath. 

13 An animal? Hair (hare). 

14 Two sides of a vote ? Eyes and nose (ayes and 

noes). 

15 An emblem of royalty ? Crown. 

16 Matrimony? United State. 

17 Youth and old age? Youth 18—95 old age. 

18 Part of a river ? Mouth. 

19 Something found in a school ? Pupil. 

20 Part of a stove ? Lid (eyelid). 

21 Plenty of assurance? Cheek. 

22 The cry of victory ? Won (one). 

23 Implements of writing ? Quills. 

The Dinner Table. 

There are various other games in which 
objects are symbolized. For instance, here 


is a list of questions and answers applicable 
to the dinner table. The questions may be 
written on cards, and these distributed 
among the members of the company to see 
who can give the greatest number of correct 
answers : 

meats. 

1 A tool and a wise man. [Sausage.] 

2 A famous English writer. [Lamb.] 

3 A silly fellow. [Goose.] 

4 The wisest, brightest and meanest of mankind. 

[Bacon.] 

5 Timber and the herald of morning. [Wood- 

cock.] 

6 The unruly member. [Tongue.] 

7 The ornamental part of the head. [Hare.] 

8 A son of Noah. [Ham.] 

9 An insect and a letter. [Beef.] 

VEGETABLES. 

10 Woman’s work and dread. [Spinage.] 

11 Part of a house and a letter. [Celery.] 

12 Skilled, part of a needle, and to suffocate. 

[Artichoke.] 

13 What Pharaoh saw in a dream. [Corn.] 

FRUIT. 

14 To waste away and Eve’s temptation. [Pine¬ 

apple.] 

15 Four-fifths of a month and a dwelling. [Apri¬ 

cot.] 

16 Married people. [Pears.] 

17 February 22, July 4, December 25. [Dates.] 

THE GUESTS. 

18 A kind of linen. [Holland.] 

19 Residences of civilized people. [Holmes.] 

20 To agitate a weapon. [Shakespeare.] 

21 Meat, what are you doing ? [Browning.] 

22 Brighter and smarter than the last. [Whittier.] 

23 An animal’s home where there is no water. 

[Dryden.] 

24 Fiery things. [Burns.] 

25 A lady’s garment. [Hood.] 

26 An animal and what she cannot do. [Cowper.] 

27 A worker in precious metals. [Goldsmith.] 

28 Very rapid. [Swift.] 

29 A slang expression. [Dickens.] 

The Flower Basket. 

The garden and field furnish material 
for a set of questions similar in character to 
those just given. We append a list of 
questions and answers, which may be added 
to by alert members of the family : 

1 My first wears my second upon her foot. 

[Lady’s slipper.] 

2 A Roman numeral. [Ivy, IV.] 

3 The hour before an early tea. [Four-o’clock.] 

4 The cook’s delight. [Butter and Eggs.] 

5 A gay and ferocious animal. [Dandelion.] 


294 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


6 My first is often sought for my second. [Mari- 

gold.] 

7 Farewell to a sweetheart. [ “ Forget-me-not.”] 

8 The sweetheart’s reply. [“ Sweet William. ” ] 

9 Its own doctor. [Self-heal ] 

10 My first is as sharp as needles, my second is as 

soft as down. [Thistledown.] 

11 My first is a country in Asia, my second is the 

name of a prominent New York family. 
[China Aster.] 

12 My first is the name of a bird, my second is 

worn by cavalrymen. [Rarkspur.] 

13 A church official. [Elder.] 

14 A tattered songster. [Ragged Robin.] 

15 My first is sly but cannot wear my second. 

[Foxglove.] 

16 Something to be kissed. [Tulips.] 

17 My first is a weapon, my second is a place 

where money is coined. [Spearmint.] 

18 Fragrant letters. [Sweet peas.] 

19 My first is a white wood, my second is the 

name of a Rhenish wine. [Hollyhock.] 
bo What the father said to his son in the morning. 
[ “Johnny-jump-up ! ”] 

21 My first is made in a dairy but is seldom served 

in my second. [Buttercup.] 

22 My first wears my second on his head. [Cox¬ 

comb.] 

initials. 

Select any name you choose, and write 
a number of questions which are to be 
answered by a phrase bearing the initials of 
the name selected. For example, suppose 
we choose the name Benjamin Hastings. 
The initials are B. H., and every answer is 
to bear these initials. Here are ten ques¬ 
tions and answers, which are offered simply 
as suggestions : 

1 Who are you? Benjamin Hastings. 

2 Who would you prefer to be ? Bret Harte. 

3 Where do you live ? British Honduras. 

4 What do you think of the tariff? Better high. 

5 What is your latest fad ? Buying hats. 

6 Describe your character ? Bad-humored. 

7 Your favorite flower ? Blue hyacinth. * 

8 The height of your ambition ? Being humor¬ 

ous. 

9 Your chief accomplishment? Building houses. 
10 Your favorite book ? Black Beauty. 

Progressive Initials. 

As progressive games are so greatly in 
fashion, we give some examples devised for 
those who do not care for card games. A 
number of tables to suit the number of 
guests must be prepared, and may be 
labeled “Fruits,” “Flowers,” “ Cities in 
United States,” “ Noted Men in American 
History,” or otherwise, as may be pre¬ 
ferred. 


Let the “ Noted Men ” be the first table. 
In the centre of each table place about 
twenty assorted letters, face down. Ana¬ 
gram letters are preferable, because they are 
easily turned. 

Having arranged the tables, pass to each 
guest a score-card, on which may be printed 
the subjects of the different tables, four for 
flowers, four for fruits, for animals, etc., by 
means of which places may be assigned for 
beginning the game. 

When all are seated, the bell at the first 
table rings, and the game proceeds. One 
person turns a letter, and calls it out so 
that all at his table may know it. Then 
the first person w r ho thinks of a noted man 
whose last name begins with that letter says 
it, and the letter is his. For instance, if W 
were turned, and one person should say 
“ Washington,” he would keep the W. 
Then in quick succession a letter is turned 
by each person at the table in rotation until 
all the letters are exhausted. The object of 
the game is to be the first to think of a 
noted man, a city, or a flower, as the case 
may be. When the letters are all ex¬ 
hausted at the first table the bell rings and 
the game stops. The two persons who 
have gained the most letters during the 
game progress to the next higher table, and 
those with the least go down, as in progres¬ 
sive euchre. Each person, however, keeps 
a record on his card of the number of let¬ 
ters he gets in each game, and at the end of 
the evening the prize is awarded to the one 
who holds the most letters, or to the high¬ 
est two, if it is proposed to give first and 
second prizes. 

Charades. 

The entertainments so far given need 
little preliminary preparation. The most 
of them may be entered upon in response 
to a suggestion from any of the company, 
such apparatus as are needed being readily 
supplied. There are other amusements of 
a more elaborate character, and which de¬ 
mand more thought and preparation. 
Among these is the time-honored game of 
charades. 

The acting of charades is an amusement 
which may always be made attractive, if 
there be any originality displayed in the 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


295 


representations and wit in the dialogue, and 
it is one which most young people hail with 
acclamation. The preparation needing to 
be made in the way of dressing, scenery, 
etc., is much less than in the case of private 
theatricals, little being needed beyond a few 
old clothes, shawls, and hats, and a few 
good actors, or rather, a few clever, bright, 
intelligent young people, all willing to em¬ 
ploy their best energies in contributing to 
the amusement of their friends. What 
ability they may possess as actors will soon 
become evident by the success or failure of 
the charade. The following are among the 
many words suitable for charade acting : 

Andrew, Arrowroot, Artichoke, Bayonet, Bell¬ 
man, Bondmaid, Bookworm, Bracelet, Bridewell, 
Brimstone, Brushwood ; Cabin, Carpet, Castaway, 
Catacomb, Champaign, Chaplain, Checkmate, 
Childhood, Cowslip, Cupboard, Cutlet; Daybreak, 
Dovetail, Downfall, Dustman; Earings, Earshot; 
Farewell, Footman; Grandchild ; Harebell, Handi¬ 
work, Handsome, Hardship, Helpless, Highgate, 
Highwayman, Homesick, Hornbook; Illwill, In¬ 
dulgent, Inmate, Insight, Intent, Intimate ; Jewel, 
Joyful! Kindred, Kneedeep ; Label, Lawful, Leap- 
year, Lifelike, Loophole, Loveknot; Madcap, 
Matchless, Milkmaid, Mistake, Misunderstand, 
Mohair, Moment, Moonstruck; Namesake, Neck¬ 
lace, Nightmare, Nightshade, Ninepin, Nutmeg; 
Orphanage, Outside, Oxeye; Padlock, Painful, 
Parsonage, Penmanship, Pilgrim, Pilot, Purchase ; 
Quicklime, Quicksand, Quickset, Quicksilver; 
Ragamuffin, Ringleader, Roundhead, Ruthful; 
Scarlet, Season, Sentinel, Sightless, Skipjack, 
Sluggard, Sofa, Solo, Somebody, Sparerib, Specu¬ 
late, Speedwell, Spinster, Statement, Supplicate, 
Sweetmeat, Sweetheart; Tactic, Tartar, Tenant, 
Tendon, Tenor, Threshold, Ticktack, Tiresome, 
Toadstool, Torment, Tractable, Triplet, Tunnel; 
Upright, Uproar; Vampire, Vanguard ; Waistcoat, 
Watchful, Watchman, Waterfall, Wayward, Wed¬ 
ding, Wedlock, Welcome, Welfare, Wilful, Wil¬ 
low, Workmanship; Yokemate, Youthful. 

Tableaux Vivants. 

In the estimation of some people tableaux 
vivants, or living pictures, possess even 
greater attractions than charades, simply 
for the reason that in their representation no 
conversational power is required. The per¬ 
formers have to remain perfectly silent, 
looking rather than speaking their thoughts; 
proclaiming by the attitude in which they 
place themselves, and by the expression of 
their countenances, the tale they have to 
tell. To others, however, this silent acting 


is infinitely more difficult than the incessant 
talk and gesticulation required in charade 
actors. Naturally active, and gifted with a 
ready flow of words, the ordeal of having to 
remain motionless and silent, for even three 
or four minutes, would be equal to the in¬ 
fliction upon themselves of absolute pain. 
Still we must not be led to think that indi¬ 
viduals devoid of character are the most 
eligible to take part in tableaux vivants ; no 
greater mistake could be made. The affair 
is sure to be a failure unless the actors not 
only have the most perfect command of 
feeling, but are able also to enter completely 
into the spirit of the subject they attempt to 
depict. 

It would be useless to expect a lady to 
personate Lady Macbeth who had never read 
the play, and who, therefore, knew nothing 
of the motives which prompted that ambi¬ 
tious woman in her guilty career. In order 
to give effect to the scene the subject must 
be familiar and thoroughly understood by 
the actors. There is seldom any difficulty in 
the selection of subjects. Historical re¬ 
membrances are always acceptable, and can 
be made to speak very plainly for them¬ 
selves, while fictitious and poetical scenes 
may be rendered simply charming. 

Speaking from experience, one of the 
prettiest tableaux vivants we ever saw was 
one taken from Shakespeare’s “ Winter’s 
Tale.” As soon as the curtain was drawn 
aside, Hermione was seen on a raised ped¬ 
estal, so lifeless and calm she might well 
have been mistaken for marble. Before her 
was standing Leontes, an old man, with his 
daughter, Perdita, hanging on his arm, both 
evidently struck dumb with amazement at 
the likeness of the statue to her whom for 
so many years they had believed to be dead ; 
while Camillo, Florizel, and Polixenes also 
stood gazing in w r onder. The good Paul¬ 
ina, dressed as a Sicilian matron, stood be¬ 
hind the statue, or rather on one side, as 
the exhibitor of it. Presently were heard 
strains of gentle music, when the statue 
stepped gracefully from her elevation, gave 
her hand to Leontes, and was embraced by 
him. The curtain here was drawn forward 
again, hiding from our sight a pitture that 
ever since has been printed indelibly upon 
our memory. 


296 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


Comic Tableaux. 

For comic tableaux, scenes from fairyland 
or from nursery rhymes would answer the 
purpose admirably. Some young lady with 
long hair might be made to be seen kneeling 
as Fatima, before her cruel, hard-hearted 
husband, Blue Beard ; he with her hair in 
one hand, and a drawn sword in the other, 
just about to cut off her head ; the tearful 
sister meantime straining her eyes out of the 
window, to catch sight of ner brothers, who 
she knows are coming with all speed to the 
rescue. 

As to dressing and scenery, they are 
matters that must be left to the taste and 
fancy of the managers of the concern, who 


will soon discover that the success of tab¬ 
leaux, even more than charades, depends 
very greatly upon dress and surroundings. 
Charades speak for themselves, but tableaux 
are so soon over, that, unless the actors as¬ 
sume somewhat of the dress of the charac¬ 
ters they attempt to personate, the audience 
would not readily guess the subject chosen. 
There is little doubt that both with charade 
performers, and with those who take part 
in tableaux vivants, the assumed dress gives 
an air of importance to the proceedings 
which would not otherwise exist, and acts 
like a kind of inspiration (upon young 
people especially), making them perhaps 
more thoroughly lose their own personality 
in trying to be for a time some one else. 


GAMES OF SKILL 


Ten-Pins. 

This is a game played on smooth plat¬ 
forms, generally sixty feet long by four wide, 
called “alleys,” at the end of which the 
pins, ten in number, are set up in triangu¬ 
lar shape, with the apex of the triangle 
toward the player. The foremost pin is 

* * * * 

* * * 

* * 

* 

called the king-pin. At the end of the alley 
there is a padded cushion to stop the balls 
sent down the alley. Each player in the 
match game has ten rolls, with three balls, 
if requisite, to each roll, making thirty 
balls in all, and the game is kept on a 
blackboard, with ten divisions for each 
player, each division representing the 
aggregate number of pins knocked down 
(with the balls of that division. If a player 
knocks down all the pins with one ball it is 
called a ten-strike , and entitles him to a dou¬ 
ble space , or two spare balls, and he may 
score what he makes with the two first balls 
of the next division, in addition to the ten 
already obtained. For instance, if he makes 
nine with the next two balls, he scores nine¬ 


teen in his first division, and then counts in 
the second division what he may make with 
the three balls. If a player knocks down 
the ten pins with the two balls, it is called a 
spare , and he counts, in addition to those 
ten, the pins knocked down by the first ball 
of the following division. 

To give an example : We will suppose a 
player commencing on his first division of 
three balls. He rolls the first ball and makes 

a strike. The marker places a f over his 
first division, showing that the player has 
made ten already toward his count on that 
division, which, as far as balls are concerned, 
is ended. The player then commences to 
roll for the second division, the first ball of 
which knocks down five pins ; the second , 
three pins. The result of these two balls is 
then added to his ten-stroke, making eigh¬ 
teen to be scored to his first division. With 
his third ball he makes one pin. This is 
added to the two previous balls, making 
nine to score to his second division, which 
would then be marked twenty-seven—each 
division including the score of all divisions 
before it. 

Checkers. 

Checkers is a game that is very often 
underrated, because it is supposed that there 
is little or no play in it. 

As a rule, a good checker-player is a more 
acute person on every-day subjects than is a 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


297 


good chess-player, and thus we strongly 
recommend checkers as a game likely to call 
into action very useful qualities. 

Black 



White 


Checkers is played on the same board as 
is chess, the men, however, being placed 
entirely on squares of one color. 

There are twelve men on each side, ar¬ 
ranged on the squares from 1 to 12 and from 
21 to 32. 

The two squares marked 1 and 5, and 32 
and 28, are called the double corners , and 
these must always be on the right hand of 
the player,whilst the left-hand lowest square, 
4 and 29, must always be on the left hand 
side. 

Having arranged the men, the first move 
is determined between the players by lot. 

The men move one square at a time ; 
thus, the man on 22 can move either to 18 
or 17 ; the man on 23 can move either to 19 
18. The men can only move forward not 
backward, until they have succeeded in 
reaching the bottom row of the adversary’s 
squares, when they are crowned by having 
a second man placed above them. They 
are then termed kings , and can move either 
forward or backward as desirable. 

A man may take an opponent’s man by 
leaping over him and taking up the vacant 
square beyond him, the piece taken being 
removed from the board. 

A man may take two or three men at one 
move, provided he can leap over each in 
succession. To understand this, place a 


white man at 18, 11 and 25, and a black 
man at 29, all other pieces being removed 
from the board. The black man can move 
and take the three white men, as he can leap 
to 22, 15 and 8, thus taking the men on 
squares 18, 11 and 25. A king can move 
both backward and forward any number of 
men as long as a square is open. Thus, place 
a white man on 25, 26, 27, 19, 10, 9 and 17. 
A black king at 29 could take all these men 
at once, for he could leap from 29 to 22, 
taking 25 man; to 31, taking 26; to 24, 
taking 27 ; to 15, taking 19 ; to 6, taking 
10 ; to 13, taking 9 ; and to 22, taking 17, 
and taking all these in one move. 

If a man take other men, and in the taking 
reach the bottom row, he cannot go on 
taking, as a king, until the adversary has 
moved. 

The game is won when all the adversary’s 
men are either taken or blockaded so that 
they cannot move, and it is drawn when two 
kings or less remain able to move in spite of 
the adversary. 

Laws. —The following are the established 
laws of the game, which should be learned 
by every person who is desirous of becoming 
a checker-player : 

1. Each player takes the first move alter¬ 
nately, whether the last game be won or 
drawn. 

2. Any action which prevents the adver¬ 
sary from having a full view of the men is 
not allowed. 

3. The player who touches a man must 
play him. 

4. In case of sta?iding the huff\ which 
means omitting to take a man when an op¬ 
portunity for so doing has occurred, the 
other party may either take the man, or 
insist upon his man, which has been so 
omitted by his adversary, being taken. 

5. If either party, when it is his turn to 
move, hesitates above three minutes, the 
other may call upon him to play; and if, 
after that, he delays above five minutes 
longer, then he loses the game. 

6. In the losing game, the player can 
insist upon his adversary taking all the men 
in case opportunities should present them¬ 
selves for their being so taken. 

7. To prevent unnecessary delay, if one 
color has no pieces but two kings on the 







298 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


board, and the other no piece but one king, 
the latter can call upon the former to win 
the game in twenty moves ; if he does not 
finish it within that number of moves, the 
game to be relinquished as drawn. 

8 . If there are three kings to two on the 
board, the subsequent moves, are not to 
exceed forty. 

Advice. —The men should be kept as 
much as possible in a wedge form toward 
the center of the board. Avoid moving a 
man on the side square, for when there he 
is deprived of half his power, being able to 
take in one direction only. 

Consider well before you touch a man, for 
a man once touched must be moved. 

Avoid the cowardly practice of moving a 
man, and then, when you discover by your 
adversary’s move that you have committed 
an error, taking your move back. Stand 
the consequences though the game be lost, 
and next time you will be more careful. 

Never allow the loss of a game to cause 
you to lose your temper, for such a proceed¬ 
ing shows you to be more self-sufficient than 
intellectual. 

As a rule, seek to play with a better 
player than yourself, rather than with a worse. 

When you lose a game, avoid all dispar¬ 
aging remarks. Your adversary who de¬ 
feats you will think more highly of you if 
you say nothing, or merely acknowledge his 
greater skill. 

Dominoes. 

This game is played by two or more per¬ 
sons with twenty-eight pieces, if the highest 
double is 6, and correspondingly more if the 
highest double is 12, divided by a line in the 
middle, into two compartments, in each of 
which is either a blank or spots from one to 
double six or double twelve. The names of 
these pieces, according to the numbers 
shown, are Double-blank, Blank-ace, Blank- 
deuce, Blank-trey, Blank-four, Blank-five, 
Blank-six; Double-ace, Ace-deuce, Ace- 
trey, Ace-four, Ace-five, Ace-six ; Double¬ 
deuce, Deuce-trey, Deuce-four, Deuce-five, 
Deuce-six ; Double-trey, Trey-four, Trey- 
five,Trey-six ; Double-four, Four-five, Four- 
six ; Double-five, Five-six; Double-six and 
so on to Double-twelve. 

The pieces are shuffled on the table, faces 
down, and the players draw at random the 


number the game requires. An infinite 
variety of games may be played with domi¬ 
noes, but those most universally known are 
Draw and Muggins. 

Draw Game. —This game, is played 
with seven pieces, the highest double leads 
and is matched at one end. When a player 
cannot play, he is obliged to draw from the 
pool until he can, or until he has exhausted 
the stock of pieces, even though the game 
be blocked by his adversary. The player 
may draw as many pieces as he pleases. He 
must draw until he can match. After a lead 
has been made there is no abridgement to 
this right. The object of drawing is to 
enable him to play. Having drawn the 
required piece, the rule to play remains im¬ 
perative as before. The draw game is, how¬ 
ever, based upon the unabridged right to 
draw, and is known as a distinctive game 
by this privilege only. 

Muggins. —In this game each player 
draws five pieces. The highest double leads, 
and after that they lead alternately. The 
count is made by fives. If the one who 
leads can put down a domino containing 
spots that count up to five or ten, as the 
double-five, six-four, five-blank, trey-deuce, 
etc., he counts that number to his score in 
the game. In matching, if a piece can be 
put down so as to make (five, ten, fifteen, or 
twenty, by adding the spots contained on 
both ends of the row, it counts to the score 
of the one setting it. Thus a trey being at 
one end and a five being at the other, the 
next player in order by putting down a 
deuce-five would score five; or if double¬ 
trey was at one end, and a player was suc¬ 
cessful in playing so as to get double-deuce 
at the other end, it would score ten for him. 
A double-six being at one end and four at 
the other, if the next player set down a 
double-four, he counts twenty—-double-six 
{i.e. 12) -f double-four (z, e. 8) = 20. The 
player who makes a count must instantly 
announce it when he plays his piece, and if 
he fails to do so, or if he announces the 
count wrongly, and any of his opponents 
calls “ Muggins,” he is debarred from scor¬ 
ing the count. If a player cannot match, he 
draws from the pool, the same as in the 
draw game, until he gets the piece required 
to match either end, or exhausts the pool. 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


299 


As in the draw game above, the first one 
who plays his last piece adds to his count 
the spots his opponents have ; and the same 
if he gains them when the game is blocked, 
by having the lowest count. But the sum 
thus added to the score is some multiple of 
five nearest the actual amount. The number 
of the game is two hundred, if two play ; 
but one hundred and fifty, if there be three 
or more players. 

Backgammon. 

This is a game played by two persons 
t*pon a board, or table , which is divided into 
two parts, upon which there are twelve 
points of one color and twelve of another, 
usually light and dark in succession. Each 
player has fifteen men or pieces of different 
colors, also two dice and a dice-box. The 
men are placed by each player on the board 
in the following manner: Counting the 
points on each side from 1 to 12, each 
player puts two of his men on his adver¬ 
sary’s No. 1, and five on No. 12, five on his 
own No. 6, and three on No. 8. 

The object of each player is to get all his 
men played round into the inner table 
(Number 7 to 12), moving them from point 
to point, according to the throws of the dice, 
which are taken alternately. They are 
finally moved off the board in response to 
fortunate throws, the player who gets 
all his men off first winning the game. 
Backgammon is a very pleasant game of 
chance for family purposes, where two per¬ 
sons wish to enjoy a leisure hour. 

Chess. 

One of the oldest, and in many respects 
the noblest, of games, is that known as 
chess. It is entirely a game of skill, and 
admits of a very wide gradation in expert¬ 
ness, the difference in skill between the be¬ 
ginner in chess and the champion player 
being almost illimitable. To play it well 
needs a high exercise of the mental power 
of calculation and prevision of the results of 
moves, and it is apt to exert a strain upon 
the mind which makes it rather an intense 
mental exercise than a diversion. 

Chess is played upon a square board, 
marked with 64 small squares, alternately 


black and white. Each player has sixteen 
pieces, eight of which are placed on his first 
row of squares, and eight (named pawns) 
on his second row. Those on the first row 
consist of two rooks, occupying the corner 
squares; two knights, on the adjoining 
squares ; two bishops, on the third squares 
from the corners; a queen, on the fourth 
square from the left, and a king on the fifth 
square. Each piece has its particular di¬ 
rection of moving; the rooks going in 
straight lines horizontally or vertically, the 
bishops diagonally, the queen in any straight 
line. Each of these moves any distance that 
is unobstructed. If its line of motion is 
anywhere occupied by an opposing piece, 
it takes this and occupies its square. 

The knight can move only two squares 
at a time, in a semi-diagonal direction, or to 
the third square between a diagonal and a 
direct line. The pawns move straight for¬ 
ward only; at first two squares, afterwards 
one square only. They cannot take a piece 
directly in front, but can, if the piece lies in a 
diagonal square. If a pawn is carried across 
the board to the opponent’s first line it can 
be made a queen, and is given the queen’s 
moves. Finally, the king can move only 
one square at a time, in any direction, but 
cannot move into an open square which is 
covered by one of the opponent’s pieces. 
If it becomes so surrounded as to be checked 
on all sides ; that is, if it occupies a position 
into which a hostile piece could move, and 
all the open spaces around it are threatened 
by other hostile pieces ; and if the latter 
pieces are so protected that none of them 
can be taken by any of the player’s men, 
the king is said to be checkmated , and the 
game is lost to its owner. To mate the 
king is the object of the game. 

Draughts. 

Not unlike chess in general principle, 
but far simpler, is the old game of draughts 
or checkers. It is played on the same kind 
of a board, but the pla}^ers have no such 
variety of moves. The men consist of 24 
round flat pieces, of different colors, usually 
black and white. In play these are placed 
on the white squares, each player occupying 
the four white squares in each of the three 
rows on his side of the board. This leaves 






300 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


the two rows in the middle open for move¬ 
ments of the pieces. 

The pieces can move diagonally only, 
one square forward at a time, but if a hostile 
piece occupies the adjoining square, with an 
open space beyond, a leap may be made into 
this space and the hostile piece taken from 
the board. If two or three hostile pieces lie 
thus in succession they may all be leaped and 
taken from the board. When a piece reaches 
the opponent’s first row it becomes a king, 
and can move either backward or forward. 
The game is won when a player has taken all 
his adversary’s pieces, or blocked them so 
that they cannot move. If neither party 
can force a win the game is drawn. 

Billiards. 

Chess and draughts are both games in 
which the players begin with equal powers, 
and the result depends wholly on skill. 
The same is the case with billiards, a game 


played with ivory balls on a smooth-cush¬ 
ioned table, with raised sides to retain the 
balls, and cause them to roll oft at an angle 
of reflection. The balls are struck and driven 
by a long wooden cue , with a bit of leather 
on its tip. Some tables have pockets in the 
corners and on each side, a ball driven into 
one of these scoring a point. In these games 
four balls are used. Pockets are no longer 
used on American tables—except in playing 
pool, a special form of the game—and only 
three balls are used. This reduces the game 
to one of pure skill. A carom consists in 
hitting both object balls with the cue ball, 
each carom counting one point. A cushion 
carom is made by striking one or more 
cushions, or sides of the table, before making 
a carom ; or by striking a ball, then a cush¬ 
ion and then the other ball. This game re¬ 
quires great skill, but very large runs, with¬ 
out a miss, have been made by brilliant ex¬ 
perts. 


SOCIAL ORGANIZATIONS 


In recent times the growth of clubs, both 
for men and women, in American communi¬ 
ties has been very great. These are organ¬ 
ized foi numerous purposes. Some of them 
possess buildings arranged for the conveni¬ 
ence of their members, their purpose being 
to promote social intercourse. Many other 
clubs and societies meet only at stated 
periods, their object being intellectual, re¬ 
formatory, scientific, etc. Lectures are 
given, refreshments are provided, and social 
divertisement is often made a feature of the 
occasion. 

In addition to the more formal associa¬ 
tions, there are many devoted to neighbor¬ 
hood intercourse, instruction, or amusement, 
such as current-event classes, whist clubs, 
church organizations of various kinds, and 
other forms of association designed to bring 
a company together at stated periods and 
promote some interest in which all are con¬ 
cerned. Such associations, except those of 
a minor character, need some form of organ¬ 
ization, and must be governed by certain 
fixed laws and regulations. Some consid¬ 
eration of the organization of such societies 
may be of utility, 


Election of Officers. 

The first thing to be done, before any 
business question can come up properly for 
discussion, is to appoint officers, two in 
particular, a president or chairman, or pre¬ 
siding officer under any name, and a secre¬ 
tary, whose duty it is to keep a record of 
the proceedings at the several business meet¬ 
ings. There may need to be two secre¬ 
taries : a recording secretary, to keep the 
minutes of the meetings, and a correspond¬ 
ing secretary, in case the association is likely 
to require more correspondence than the 
recording secretary cares to undertake. 
There are often also one or more vice presi¬ 
dents chosen. If the society is other than a 
simple meeting from house to hou^e of its 
members, dues to pay expenses are likely to 
be necessary, and a treasurer must be ap¬ 
pointed to take charge of the funds, notify 
the members when their dues are payable, 
pay all bills, and meet any expenses. 

This is not all. Unless the association 
is of a very informal character and its busi¬ 
ness proceedings few and simple, some writ¬ 
ten laws and regulations become necessary, 



■; . •—*»* 


"“'y 


_ 








' 


TWO POPULAR AND HEALTHFUL GAMES 

HOCKEY, PLAYED ON THE ICE, as shown in the upper picture is a favorite sport in northern sections where 
there is skating ; the picture shows the player as ready for the “ Bully off.” It is also played in the field. 

BASKET BALL may be played either in-doors or out. It is especially popular in the winter time for girls in 
gymnasiums and play-rooms. In Fall and Spring it is a fine out-door game. 








































TWO EXCITING GAMES FOR BOYS 

THE TUG OF WAR is a game which gives a test of strength and a fine play for muscle. 

LEAP-FROG delights every boy as a game easily played when time is short and other resources for entertainment 

are wanting. It also gives good exercise to the muscles. 








PLEASURES AND PASTIMES ' 


301 


governing the methods of conducting bus¬ 
iness, of electing officers, passing resolu¬ 
tions, admitting members, etc. Usually 
these take the form of a constitution, in 
which are recited the name and purpose of 
the association, its fixed modes of operation 
and permanent principles, and a set of by¬ 
laws, relating to methods of proceeding at 
meetings, mode of choice and length of term 
of officers, their respective duties, the elec¬ 
tion of members, dues, fines, resignations, 
and all subjects which it may become de¬ 
sirable to change at any time as new cir¬ 
cumstances arise. 

Duties of Officers. 

Of the duties of officers, those of the 
chairman are most important. He is ex¬ 
pected to preside at meetings, see that they 
are conducted in agreement with the by¬ 
laws, call for reports of committees, hear all 
motions made by members and amendments 
to motions, allow a reasonable time for dis¬ 
cussion, and put the motion to the decision 
of the members, who vote by “aye” and 
“ nay,” or, in case of doubt as to the result, 
by rising, by voting when their names are 
called, or in any manner adopted to get the 
true result of the vote. 

The chairman also considers objections 
and points of order, and decides upon them, 
his decision being final, unless an appeal is 
made to the members. This appeal is de¬ 
bated before a temporary chairman, chosen 


t© hear it, and may be decided for or against 
the decision of the president. These gen¬ 
eral duties of the presiding officer must be 
somewhat flexible in operation, to meet the 
numerous exigencies which may arise in the 
proceedings of any society. He needs to be 
firm and just, and to have sufficient power 
of control to preserve order, to decide be¬ 
tween wrangling members, and to insist on 
the meetings being conducted in strict sub¬ 
servience to the requirements of the by-laws. 
The duties of the secretary and treasurer 
need not be described. They are simple 
and formal, the former being confined to 
keeping a true record of the proceedings, 
the latter to the collection of dues and other 
funds and paying them out on properly ac¬ 
credited bills. Committees are frequently 
appointed to consider questions which can¬ 
not conveniently be decided at the regular 
meetings of the association. Their powers 
are limited to a decision in committee and a 
report, favorable or unfavorable, to the gen¬ 
eral meeting, which will act upon the re¬ 
port. Occasionally, indeed, a committee is 
given “ power to act” on some question, in 
which case this is not reported back to the 
society, but is settled by the committee. 

The hearing and deciding upon motions, 
reference of subjects to committees, etc., 
lead to many intricacies in large and im¬ 
portant public bodies. Instead of attempt¬ 
ing to explain these at length, we give them 
in tabulated form, as follows : 


PARLIAMENTARY LAW AT A GLANCE 


List of motions arranged according to their 
purpose and effect. 

[Letters refer io rules below .] 

Modifying or amending. 

8. To ar&end or to substitute, or to divide 


the question.K 

To refer to committee. 

7. To commit (or recommit).D 

Deferring action. 

6. To postpone to a fixed time.C 

4. To lay on the table.A E G 

Suppressing or extending debate. 

5. For the previous question.A EM 

To limit, or close, debate.A M 

To extend limits of debate.A 

Suppressing the question. 

x—v « • j* a _ Z d » x~» •*-» xv r xi 11 XV xa 4 -1 X\11 


9. To postpone indefinitely.. . E E 


4. To lay upon the table.A E G 

To bring up a question the second time. 

To reconsider a debatable question . . . 

.DEF I 

To reconsider an undebatable question . . 

.A E F I 

Concerning Orders, Rules , etc. 

3. For the orders of the day ... A E H N 

To make subject a special order.M 

To amend the rules.M 

To suspend the rules.A E F M 

To take up a question out of its proper 

order.A E 

To take from the table.A E G 

Questions touching priority of business . . A 
Questions of privilege. 

Asking leave to continue speaking after 

indecorum.A 

Appeal from chair’s decision touching in¬ 
decorum .A E H L 





















302 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


Appeal from chair’s decision generally 

.E H L 

Question upon reading of papers . . . A E 

Withdrawal of a motion.A E 

Closing a meeting. 

1. To fix the time to which to adjourn . . . . B 

2. To adjourn (in committees, to rise), or to 

take a recess, without limitation . A E F 

Order of Precedence.— The motions above num¬ 
bered i to q take precedence over all others in the 
order given , and any one of them , except to 
amend or substitute , is in order while a motion 
of a lower rank is pending. 

Rule A. Undebatable, but remarks may be 
tacitly allowed. 

Rule B. Undebatable if another question is 
before the assembly. 

Rule; C. Limited debate allowed on propriety 
of postponement only. 

Rule D. Opens the main question to debate. 
Motions not so marked do not allow of reference 
to main question. 

Rule E. Cannot be amended. Motion to ad¬ 
journ can be amended when there is no other 
business before the house. 

Rule F. Cannot be reconsidered. 

Rui.e; G. An affirmative vote cannot be recon¬ 
sidered. 

Rule; H. In order when another has the floor. 

Rule; I. A motion to reconsider may be moved 
and entered when another has the floor, but the 
business then before the house may not be set 
aside. This motion can only be entertained when 
made by one who voted originally with the prevail¬ 
ing side. When called up it takes precedence of 
all others which may come up, excepting only mo¬ 
tions relating to adjournment. 

Rule; K. A motion to amend an amendment 
cannot be amended. 

Rule; E. When an appeal from the chair’s 
decision results in a tie vote, the chair is sustained. 

Rule; M. Requires a two-thirds vote unless 
special rules have been enacted. 

Rule N. Does not require to be seconded. 

GENERAL RULES. 

No motion is open for discussion until it has 
been stated by the chair. 

The maker of a motion cannot modify it or 
withdraw it after it has been stated by the chair, 
except by general consent. 

Only one reconsideration of a question is per¬ 
mitted. 

A motion to adjourn, to lay on the table, or to 
take from the table, cai not be renewed unless 
some other motion has been made in the interval. 

On motion to strike out the words, “ Shall the 
words stand part of the motion?” unless a ma¬ 
jority sustains the words, they are stricken out. 

On motion for previous question, the form to be 
observed is, ‘‘Shall the main question be now 
put ? ’ ’ This, if carried, ends debate. 

On an appeal from the chair’s decision, ° Shall 
the decision be sustained as the ruling of the 
house ? ” The chair is generally sustained. 


On motion for orders of the day, “Will the 
house now proceed to the orders of the day?” 
This, if carried, supersedes intervening motions. 

When an objection is raised to considering 
questions, “Shall the question be considered?” 
objections may be made by any member before 
debate has commenced, but not subsequently. 

Hints for Literary Clubs. 

In many communities there are literary 
clubs which, if properly conducted, may be 
the means of many delightful social re¬ 
unions during the long winter evenings. 
Everywhere there are thousands of clubs 
composed of young people, who meet, 
usually once or twice a month, in the lec¬ 
ture room of the church, in the town hall, 
in the village schoolhouse, or at the homes 
of the members. The vital elements in the 
life of such a club must, of necessity, be 
simplicity of organization, an absence of 
red tape, and good fellowship. If too much 
importance be given to parliamentary rules, 
interest in the society may be lost. Soon 
after organization it may be proper to de¬ 
vote one or two evenings to talks on par¬ 
liamentary rules and practices, and much 
amusement and interest may be aroused in 
having a Parliamentary evening. 

The Duty of the Members. 

To obtain the greatest good from the 
club, all programmes for the season should, 
in a general way, be mapped out at the 
start, so that the individual members may 
become so interested in the continuity that 
they will be regular attendants. 

A law of the club should be that every 
member shall contribute something each 
evening (if the club be not too large to 
make this possible), however trifling the 
part may be. There is always latent talent 
in even the most backward members which 
will reveal itself under careful watching. 

The literary selections should be serious, 
pathetic, dramatic, and humorous, diversi¬ 
fied by vocal and instrumental music, with 
dialogues, recitations or appropriate quota¬ 
tions, and occasionally a piece of black¬ 
board work, and any other interesting feat¬ 
ures that the intellectual material of the 
club may make possible. 

It should be the aim to make the suc¬ 
cessive evenings as different as possible in 
character. 




PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


303 


How to Organize a Literary Society. 

The work of organizing a literary society 
need not be complicated. Notice is given pri¬ 
vately or by public announcement to those 
likely to be interested, and they meet at the 
designated place and hour. The person who 
has called the meeting says, “ I move that 
Mr. (or Miss) Smith be chairman,” and 
when this is seconded, he puts the question 
by saying, “Those in favor of Mr. Smith 
will say aye.” When all these have voted, 
he says, “Those opposed will say no.” 
Usually there will be no opposition, and he 
declares Mr. Smith (or Miss Smith as the case 
may be) elected, who then assumes the chair 
and puts all future questions. A secretary 
is elected in the same manner, and the meet¬ 
ing is ready for business. 

The chairman then calls on some one to 
state the object of the meeting. This may 
be done in very few words, as follows : 

‘ ‘ There has been a sentiment in favor of or¬ 
ganizing a society for literary and social 
purposes, and we have therefore made this 
call. To determine your sentiments, I 
move that we now proceed to organize such 
a society.” The motion is seconded, put in 
the usual form, and declared carried. Then 
it is usual to appoint a committee to form a 
Constitution and By-laws, and present at a 
subsequent meeting, if not already prepared 
by interested parties, which, when presented, 
are discussed article by article, amended so 
far as the meeting may desire, and adopted. 
Those wishing to become members sign the 
Constitution, pay their dues if any are re¬ 
quired, and the meeting then becomes the 
society. The officers provided by the Con¬ 
stitution may be elected at once, or at a 
meeting appointed for that purpose; only 
those persons who have signed the Constitu¬ 
tion vote and, when the election is com¬ 
pleted, the society is duly launched and ready 
for business. As much should be done as 
possible at this meeting in the way of pre¬ 
paring a programme for the first regular 
meeting and securing participants in the 
exercises, that the first ardor of the society 
may not be chilled by delay. The following 
is a simple form for a Constitution, which 
may be changed or added to at the pleasure 
of the members of the proposed society. 


Constitution. 

Article; I. 

Name. 

This society shall be known as ——- 
Society of- 

Article: II. 

Object. 

The object of this society shall be the 
general improvement of its members, espe¬ 
cially in literary and social matters. 

Article: III. 

Membership. 

Any person of good character may be¬ 
come a member by signing the Constitution 
and paying the initiation fee. 

Article: IV. * 

Officers. 

The officers of this society shall be Presi¬ 
dent, Vice-President, Secretary, Treasurer 
and a Literary Committee of three members. 
They shall be elected by ballot and serve for 
six months. The President shall preside at 
all meetings and introduce the speakers ap¬ 
pointed on the programme for each meeting. 
The Vice-President shall perform these 
duties in the absence of the President. The 
Secretary and Treasurer shall perform the 
duties belonging to such officers. The 
Literary Committee shall arrange the pro¬ 
gramme for each meeting and assign 
speakers as early as the preceding meeting 
In case any speaker is absent, they shall 
assign other members of the society to take 
his or her place. 

Article: V. 

Amendments. 

This Constitution and By-Laws may be 
amended by a majority vote, notice of such 
amendment having been given in writing at 
the preceding meeting. 

By=Laws. 

Article: I. 

Meetings. 

Meetings shall be held as follows : 

Regular meeting on [Friday] of [each 
week]. Semi-annual meetings on [the last 
Friday] of [December and June] for the 




PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


3 <H 

hearing of reports from the Secretary and 
Treasurer, and for electing officers. 

Article II. 

Fees. 

Fees shall consist of an initiation of [fifty 
cents] and [twenty-five cents] per month. 

Article III. 

Expulsions. 

Any member who violates the Constitu¬ 
tion and By-Laws, refuses to perform ac¬ 
cording to the assignment of the Literary 
Committee, or neglects to pay his dues for 
[three months], may be expelled by a two- 
thirds vote of the members present; but a 
motion to expel shall always lay over to the 
meeting following that at which it is offered. 

Public Speaking. 

Public speaking is an art, to be sure, but 
one that almost every one can acquire with a 
little practice. What is needed is confi¬ 
dence in one’s power to acquit himself 
creditably. There must always be behind it 
all a knowledge of the subject. The 
speaker should then speak as though he 
were talking to friends and endeavoring to 
interest them. He may feel assured that 
his audience is in sympathy with him and 
wishes to see him succeed. The beginner 
will do well to write out beforehand what 
he wishes to say, correct it carefully, and 
then read it over a number of times until he 
has well fixed in his mind what he has writ¬ 
ten. In the delivery it is not absolutely ne¬ 
cessary that he should say it word for word 
as it is written. Many distinguished public 
speakers follow this rule, and they speak so 
naturally that very few people would sus¬ 
pect that their address had been carefully 
written out and prepared beforehand. 

In former times the national holidays 
and festivals were occasions for displays 
of oratorical power and brilliant speak¬ 
ing, or, as some one said, “in the soaring 
of the American eagle.” All this has long 
since passed by, and public speakers recog¬ 
nize that their audience must be entertained, 
amused and instructed, that they do not 
come together to be lectured or preached to. 

After-Dinner Speeches. — Public din¬ 
ners are not so formal as national and other 


celebrations, as usually there are fewer per¬ 
sons present, and they are more or less ac¬ 
quainted with one another. After the serv¬ 
ing of the dinner or refreshments it is usual 
to have an hour or more of enjoyment in 
the way of speeches, which are called toasts. 
Some one is selected to preside on this occa¬ 
sion, and he proposes the toast and calls 
upon the speaker to respond. In doing this 
he is expected to make some happy remarks • 
which will serve to introduce the speaker. 
He may do this by incidentally referring to 
the subject which is proposed, and also to 
the speaker who is to respond. Of course, 
it is understood that unpleasant and pointed 
allusions or references are to be avoided, 
and nothing said or done which will mar the 
pleasure and happiness of the occasion. In 
responding to a toast the speaker gains the 
good will of his audience by some happy 
reference to the words of introduction which 
have been spoken, always in a pleasant and 
happy vein, and then introducing the topic 
upon which he is to speak by some anecdote 
or story or allusion which will at once hold 
the attention of his hearers. Almost every 
subject that will be treated on such an occa¬ 
sion as this will give room for a few serious 
thoughts which will have some uplift to 
them and also many happy and pleasant 
remarks which will bring smiles to the faces 
of the hearers. These responses to toasts 
should not be longer than five or ten minutes. 
We suggest some topics for toasts for dif¬ 
ferent occasions: 

For the Fourth of July. 

The day we celebrate : “ May the Consti¬ 
tution always follow the flag.” 

The American Eagle : “ The older he grows 
the louder he screams and the farther he 
flies.” 

The Ladies: “ First in the hearts of their 
countrymen.” 

For Christmas Dinner. 

“ Christmas day comes but once a year. 

May it bring joy to all hearts.” 

“ ‘ God bless us all, each and every one,’ 
said tiny Tim.” 

“ St. Nicholas, the friend of all, the only 
saint in the calendar who is for-giving. ’ ’ 

Weddings. 

The Happy Pair: “Two are company,, 
three are not.” 

The Fair Bride. 


HEALTHFUL OUTDOOR GAMES 
TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


Jingling. 

A ring is staked and roped out upon a 
piece of turf, and inside this the players 
take their places. One of them has his 


tries to escape from the blind men: while 
they, guided by his bell, do their best to 
catch him. If the number of players be 
duly apportioned to the size of the ring, there 



is positively no end to the fun that may be 
got out of the game; a good jingler will lead 
the blind, men into all sorts of scrapes—of 
course without compromising himself—into 
each other’s arms, over the ropes, or over 
some luckless companion who has come to 
grief in laboring after the j ingler, or a hundred 
other devices equally effective and amusing. 




& """ 

'///y, 'M*/. 


*/// 


hands tied behind him, and carries a bell 
slung round his neck; all the rest are closely 
blindfolded. The “jingler,” or bell-man, 


20 ll 


3 ° 5 

























PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 



Perhaps the most absurb scenes occur 
when two or more blind men rush into each 
other’s arms and grapple frantically, each 
persuaded that the other is the jingler, and 
ready to drag or be dragged anywhere rather 
than relax their grasp. 

In a match the winner is either the jingler 
himself, if he can contrive to keep clear of 
his pursuers for the requisite time, or, if he 
is caught, the blind man who catches him. 


Tierce. 


If smartly played, this is a very good 
game for cold weather. To play it properly 
there should be at least eighteen or twenty 
players, who arrange themselves as in the 
annexed diagram, all in pairs, except one 
set of three, and the game is as follows: The 
outside player, marked *, runs round the 

circle, and tries 
to catch three 
i “tierce” 




or 


i / 




9 


% 


t 

6 


together in a 
line. If he can 
do this, and 
°—-O touch the out¬ 
sider, he takes 
his place in the 
circle, and the 
player just 
touched becomes 
outsider. 

The outermost man of the tierce, there¬ 
fore, when he sees the outsider coming his 
way, slips from his place into the middle of 
the ring, and stations himself in front of some 
other pair at a distant point in it, thus mak¬ 
ing a fresh tierce, to which the outsider has 
to hasten, only, perhaps, to be disappointed 
in like manner. 

Where there are many players, and the 
ring is consequently large, there should be 
two or more tierces, and thus the game will 
be made more lively by making it more dif¬ 
ficult to avoid being caught. The game 
must be kept up with spirit or it soon falls 
tame ; but with lively players it is excellent 
fun. 

Tag. 

This is the simplest of all games. Out 
of a number of players one goes “Tag,” 
and tries to catch and touch any of the 


others indifferently: the player so touched 
becomes Tag in his turn until he touches 
some one else. The player touched cannot 
touch back until he has first chased another 
player. 

This is a capital impromptu game for cold 
weather; the running soon warms up even 
the most chilly. It must, however, to be 
played with success, be confined within 
tolerably narrow boundaries. 

Cross-Tag. —Tag calls out the name of 
the player he intends to chase, and sets oft 
after him ; the other players then run across 
between Tag and the fugitive. Bach time 
a player crosses between the two, Tag must 
leave the original chase and follow the player 
who has crossed, and so on, perhaps chas¬ 
ing in turn every individual player before he 
can effect a capture. 

Touchwood-Tag. —A series of posts or 
trees is selected; as long as the player is 
touching one of these authorized posts, Tag 
cannot touch him ; his only chance is to 
catch him while flitting from one post to an¬ 
other. Two players are not allowed to 
touch the same post; if Tag can catch two 
so situated, he may touch the last comer, 
who thus becomes Tag. 

The life of this game depends upon the 
pluck and spirit of the runners, for Tag can 
do nothing until they expose themselves by 
running. A constant interchange of posts 
should be kept up, or the game flags and 
loses its interest. It may be played either 
like “ Puss in the Corner,” with only one 
station for each runner, so that running can 
only be effected by exchanging posts, which 
is perhaps the preferable game; or with a 
number of posts in excess of the number 
engaged. 

“ Sling the Honkey.” 

This is a capital game, and can be played 
anywhere where there are trees. One player 
who is chosen by lot, takes the part of 
Monkey, and is fastened to a tolerably high 
branch of a tree by a strong cord knotted in 
a “bowline” loop and passed round his 
waist. The other players now baste the 
monkey with knotted handkerchiefs, and he 
armed in like manner, endeavors to retaliate. 
If he succeeds in striking one of them, he 
is at once released, and the other takes his 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


307 


place as monkey. He must make haste in 
doing it, or he may be basted until he is fairly 
in the loop. With players who don’t mind 
a little buffeting this game becomes exceed¬ 
ingly lively : an active monkey is very dif¬ 
ficult to approach with safety, and, of course, 
gives much more life to the game. 

The cord should be just long enough to 
enable the monkey to reach the ground 


in the rope; and it need scarcely be impressed 
upon the reader that both rope and branch 
must be strong enough to bear the strain put 
upon them by the weight and movements of 
the monkey. 

“ Knights.’* 

Two sturdy boys, each with a smaller boy 
on his back, engage in a mock tournament, 



comfortably under the branch. Half the 
fun of the game lies in actual slinging of the 
monkey, one of whose most effective ruses 
is to throw himself forward on the rope, pre¬ 
tend to start off in one direction, and then 
come back with a swing in the other. 

The branch to which the cord is attached 
should be of some considerable height from 
the ground, or there will not be play enough 


themselves acting as horses, while the young¬ 
sters grapple and strive to unseat each other. 

The real brunt of the fighting falls on tne 
horses, upon whose strength and dexterity, 
much more than upon that of their respec¬ 
tive “ knights,” depends the ultimate issue 
of the combat. The horses may shove and 
jostle one another, but must not kick, trip, 
or use their hands or elbows. 



































































PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 



The victor is he who gains most falls in 
three rounds. The game should only be 
played upon turf, for safety’s sake; for some¬ 
times, when horse and man go down together, 
the fall might prove a nasty one on hard 
ground, and at any time the rider is liable to 
be brought off backward with a jerk, under 
which circumstances he will be thankful to 
measure his length on the soft turf instead 
of lumpy gravel or unyielding pavement. 

“ Cock=Fighting.” 

Two players are made to sit on the ground 
draw their legs up, and clasp their hands 


Two falls out of three decide the game; 
if both fall it is no “ round,” and does not 
count. 

As the player may not unclasp his hands 
even when down, he is quite helpless, and 
must be assisted by his friends. 

Tug=of-War. 

A number of players divide into two par¬ 
ties, each under the command of a leader. 
A line is marked out on the ground, and 
the two parties, laying hold of either end of 
a stout rope, try to drag each the other 
across the line. 



together over their shins. A stout stick is 
then passed through under their knees, and 
over their arms at the bend of the elbows, as 
in the cut, and there they sit trussed like a 
couple of fowls. 

Thus prepared, the two combatants are 
placed face to face, their toes touching, and 
are left to fight it out. This they do by 
striving to knock each other down, each to 
overbalance the other without loosing his 
own equilibrium. 


Simple as the game may appear, the party 
which is physically most powerful does not 
necessarily have it all his own way; a smart 
captain will often make up by superior 
finesse for any deficiency of his side in 
strength and weight. 

The two captains stand facing each other 
at the line, and measure wits as well as 
strength. 

One very common but very excellent ruse , 
especially with a side somewhat over- 





































ETHEL BARRYMORE AND HER SWEET-TONED HARP 













SOCIAL AND DELIGHTFUL TIMES IN THE HOME. 

The happiest homes are those in which the parents are loved and obeyed by the children. The children 
play quietly; the daughter entertains with her music ; the son is interested in his book, 
and all are bound together by thoughtful consideration for the welfare of all. 



















PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


309 


weighed by its opponents, is to put a heavy 
drag on the rope, not attempting to pull up 
the opponents—in extreme cases even allow¬ 
ing them to gain ground inch by inch—then 
suddenly, when, flushed with success, they 
are unprepared, to let the rope go by the 
run : if this be done neatly, down they must 
all go on their backs in a struggling, help¬ 
less mass. The instant they are down the 
successful party must clap on and run a"way 
with them, which they will now easily do, 
clean over the line. 

The success of this maneuver depends 
chiefly upon the captain’s seizing the right 
moment for its execution ; but the whole of 
his side must obey instantly when the signal 
is given, or the attempt will prove futile ; 
one hand on the rope after the others have 
let go is sufficient to ruin the whole affair; 
nothing but instantaneous and simultaneous 
action has a chance of success. 

This game is now a regular part of the 
program in athletic sports. 

Leap=Frog or Spanish Fly. 

A player is chosen by lot for leader, and 
another for “ first back.” The leader 
“ overs ” in all sorts of eccentric fashions, 
and the rest are bound to imitate him, even 
to the minutest particular, under penalty, 
in case of failure, of relieving the ‘‘first 
back ’ ’ until relieved in turn by some one 
else. 

A leader wfith a ready invention may hit 
upon innumerable variations in the method 
of “ overing ; ” such as, for instance, put¬ 
ting a cap on the back, and “overing” 
without knocking it off, or even making a 
pile of two or three, and “ overing” with¬ 
out touching; taking the one cap off and 
leaving his own behind—a very neat trick ; 
throwing his cap up before “ overing,” and 
catching it after, before it touches the 
ground ; and so on almost ad infinitum. 

“ Duck on a Rock.” 

A very lively game for any number of 
players from four or five to a dozen. Kach 
player procures a smooth, somewhat flat¬ 
tened pebble ; and a large stone about ten 
inches or so in diameter, with a flat top, is 
set up to serve as ‘ ‘ mammy. ” A “ home 
is marked out about ten yards or so from 


the “mammy,” and from this the players 
“ pitch for Duck,” that is tc say, they try 
to pitch their pebbles as near to the 
‘ ‘ mammy ’ ’ as possible; the one who makes 
the worst shot goes “ Duck.” He puts his 
pebble upon the “mammy,” and the rest 
of the party in succession stand at the home, 
and endeavor to knock the ‘ ‘ duck-stone ’ ’ 
off the “ mammy.” 

So far there is not much life in the game ; 
but the player having pitched his pebble, has 
to get it back again for his next shot: the 
instant he touches his stone he lays himself 
open to be touched by the Duck, in which 



case he nas to take Duck’s place; Duck, 
however, has this power of touching the 
other players only as long as the ‘ * mammy ” 
is crowned—that is, as long as his pebble 
rests on it—so that the displacement of this 
is the signal for a general scurry homeward, 
and Duck must be very quick in replacing 
the stone, to get even a chance of touching 
one of the players. 

“ Fly the Garter.” 

A line, or, as it is technically termed, a 
“ garter,” is marked out on the ground: 
the “first back,” chosen by lot as before, 
stands a foot from the “ garter,” and sets a 
“back;” the rest “over” him in succes¬ 
sion, springing from inside the “garter.” 
He then advances one foot more, and they 
‘ ‘ over ’ ’ him again as before ; then another 
foot, and if now all succeed in “ overing ” 
him, he takes a close-footed leap forward as 
far as he can, and sets a fresh “ back ’ ’ where 
he alights. If they still succeed in “ over¬ 
ing ” him, the game begins again, and hy 
starts from the “ garter ” afresh. If, how 
ever, at any time one fails to “ over ” him, 
they change places, and the game begins 
anew. 

Nine Holes. 

Strictly, this game should be played by 
nine players, and nine only, but the actual 
number is not material to the spirit of the 
game, and the number of holes may be 


3io 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


modified at will, to suit the number of play¬ 
ers. To play it, nine holes, about six inches 
wide and three deep, are dug near a wall, 
and a line is drawn opposite these at a dis¬ 
tance of five or six yards. Bach of the 
players takes one hole, and one of them, 
standing at the line, pitches a ball (a tennis 
or soft rubber ball is best) into one of these 
holes. The player to whom the hole belongs 
snatches the ball out and throws it at one of 
the others, who have meanwhile scattered in 
all directions. If he hits him, the player 
just struck becomes “ pitcher; ” if he misses 
him he loses one, and himself becomes 
‘ ‘ pitcher. ’ ’ When a player has thus missed 
three times, or technically has “lost three 
lives,” he is considered “ dead,” and stands 
out until the conclusion of the game. The 
winner is he who holds out to the last. 
Caps are sometimes used instead of holes, 
and serve the purpose equally well, though 
perhaps they would be better on the heads 
of their respective owners. 

Hop=Scotch. 

This is very good practice for balancing 
the body and acquiring steadiness on the 
legs. Chalk or otherwise mark out on the 
ground a figure like the accompanying dia¬ 
gram, on a scale of about four 
feet to the inch. 

Not more than two or three 
should play at one figure, or 
there will be too long a time 
between the turns. The play¬ 
ers “ pink ” for first turn ; that 
is, they pitch the stone or piece 
of tile with which they are go¬ 
ing to play at the cat’s face at 
the rounded extremity, some¬ 
times also called and drawn as 
“the pudding.” He who gets 
nearest leads off. 

Standing at the square end, he throws his 
tile into compartment i, hops in and kicks 
the tile out—still hopping—to the starting- 
point. He next throws the tile into No. 2, 
hops into 1, thence to 2, and kicks the tile 
out as before. He next goes on to 3, and 
so on until he reaches 8, which is called the 
‘ ‘ resting-bed ; ’ ’ having reached this he may 
rest himself by putting his feet into 6 and 7, 
resuming his hopping position, however, 


before he goes on with the game, in which 
he proceeds as before. Until he reaches the 
“ cat’s face ” or “pudding,” he may have 
as many kicks as he likes in kicking the tile 
out, but when he reaches that he must kick 
it through all the other divisions at one single 
kick, the successful achievement of which 
crowns the game. 

If the tile is pitched into a wrong number, 
or rests on one of the lines, either in pitch¬ 
ing or kicking, or it is kicked over the side 
lines, the player loses his innings ; if he puts 
down both feet while in the figure, except at 
the resting-bed, or sets his foot, in hopping, 
on either of the lines, he suffers the same 
penalty. Some players who are particular, 
and cultivate the refinements of the game, 
are in the habit of using a circular disk of 
lead, instead of the usual irregular, and there¬ 
fore uncertain piece of tile. 

The Bean Shooter or Catapult. 

Catapults may be made by any boy w 7 ith 
very little trouble. Get a forked stick, the 
shape of the letter Y, about six or seven 
inches in length, the prongs about two inches 
apart. To the extremity of each of these 
prongs lash securely a strip of strong India- 
rubber sping about six inches in length, and 
attach the loose ends of these springs to an 
oval piece of soft leather, 1 y 2 inches long by 
an inch in width, whipping them carefully 



and strongly for a distance of nearly an inch ; 
this oval forms a kind of pocket in which to 
place the missile. 

The most useful ammunition is du'ck-shot; 
clay marbles do very well, and even gravel- 
stones at a pinch may be made to do good 
service ; but the first named are preferable 



M 

12 

9 

10 

•*( 

3 

4 

X 

2 


















PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


in every way, for range, accuracy, penetra¬ 
tion and portability; they can be fired in 
volleys, too, when occasion requires, which 
the others cannot, on account of their size. 

With a tolerably powerful catapult, such 
a one, for instance, as described above, large 
birds may be brought down by a well- 
directed volley of heavy shot. 

Cross=Bow. 

A cross-bow is in effect nothing more nor 
less than an ordinary bow set crosswise in a 
butt in shape like an ordinary gunstock. 



A great deal of amusement may be got 
out of a cross-bow by shooting at a butt or 
target. In default of more properly con¬ 
structed missiles, pipe-stems form excel¬ 
lent bolts, and will give a very good account 
at a dozen paces or so. 

Hare and Hounds. 

This is a good running game, and in high 
repute among our boys. In playing it one 
boy (or in a long course two) represents the 
Hare, and the rest the Hounds. The hares 
carry with them bags full of paper torn up 
very small, which they scatter behind them 
as they run, to represent scent, and by this 
the hounds trace them up and endeavor to 
capture them. The hares, of course, en¬ 
deavor to mislead them by all sorts of doubl¬ 
ings and twistings, or by going over diffi¬ 
cult country. 

The hares are debarred, by the rules of 
the game, from employing all such artifices 
as making one or more false starts at any 
part of the run, and from returning on or 
crossing their previous track. Should they 
break either of these rules, or should the 
“scent” give out, they are considered as 
caught, and lose the game accordingly. 
They must, of course, always scatter a suf¬ 
ficient amount of scent to be plainly visible 


3H 

to the hounds. If there be two hares, they 
must not separate under any circumstances : 
for all the purposes of the game they are to 
be considered as strictly only one individual. 

The hounds will find a little organization 
and discipline a wonderful assistance to them 
in baffling the tricks of the hare. A captain 
and a whipper-in should be chosen, the 
former to lead and direct, and the latter to 
bring up in the rear. As long as the scent 
is strong, the whole band will go somewhat 
in Indian file, merely following their captain; 
but when he is at fault he must sound the 
horn, which he carries ex officio , and call a 
halt. The whipper-in thereupon takes up 
his post at the point where the scent is broken 
and the others sweep round in a great circle, 
covering every inch of ground, to discover 
the lost trail. Sometimes the captain and 
whipper-in carry white and red flags respec¬ 
tively, and use them to mark the points 
where the scent is broken. 

The hares should not be the swiftest run¬ 
ners, or they would never be caught. En¬ 
durance, pluck, and a readiness of invention 
are the great points in a hare. The more 
he trusts to his head and the less to his legs, 
the better the chase. The hares are gener¬ 
ally allowed not less than five or more than 
ten minutes’ law, according to circum¬ 
stances. They should take care to survey 
their ground before they go over it, or they 
may get themselves into all sorts of diffi¬ 
culties. A pocket compass will be found 
an invaluable companion both to hares and 
hounds. From twelve to fourteen miles is 
a good run; but some little training and 
practice are requisite before such a long 
course can be covered. 

Handball. 

Handball may be played, in a rough way 
almost anywhere : the only absolute require¬ 
ments are a tolerably smooth and lofty wall, 
fronted by a reasonably smooth and level 
piece of ground. With these and an india- 
rubber or tennis ball a game may be got 
up at almost a moment’s notice. 

The wall and ground need some little pre¬ 
paration, which need not, however, take 
more than a few minutes. A line must be 
drawn horizontally along the wall with 
chalk or other suitable substance, at about 








312 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


thirty inches from the ground; and three 
lines on the ground, two extending parallel 
from the wall, about fifteen feet apart, to a 
distance of some eighteen or twenty feet; 
and one parallel with the wall and about six 
feet from it. The line on the wall is called 
simply “the line,” the two long ones on 
the ground ‘ ‘ the boundaries,’ ’ and the cross- 
line “ the scratch.” The ball when in play 
must be made to strike the wall above the 
jline and must fall to the ground inside the 
boundaries. 

The number of players may be two or 
four. As there is no material difference 
between the game with two 
and that with four players, 
the description of the one will 
do for the other ; for simpli¬ 
city’s sake, tuerefore, the game 
with two players will be de¬ 
scribed. 

The theory of the game 
is as follows : One player 
strikes the ball with his hand 
up against the wall above the 
line, making it fall beyond 
the scratch, and the other is 
then bound to meet it, and 
before it touches the ground a 
seco?id time, to return it again 
to the wall for the first player 
to meet it in like manner, and 
so on alternately, only that 
after the ball is ‘ ‘ served ’ ’ it 
is not requisite that it should 
fall outside the .scratch. The 
players toss up for first lead- 
off, and the winner serves or 
delivers the ball as above des¬ 
cribed ; if he himself is first to 
fail in properly returning the ball to the 
wall, he is out, and player No. 2 becomes 
server ; but if the second player so fails, the 
server counts one toward his game, and 
serves the ball afresh for a new bout. The 
game is mostly eleven or fifteen, the former 
number being perhaps the more common 
and the most interesting. 

The real art, after the knack of strik¬ 
ing the ball fairly with the hand is once 
mastered, lies in the serving. The server, 
as will be preceived, has every advantage : 
in the first place, if he fails, be only loses 


his turn, while if his opponent fails, he 
loses one to his score, which is no slight ad¬ 
vantage, especially near the end of the game. 
In the next place, the server takes his own 
time in delivering the ball, and is left per¬ 
fectly cool and collected to make it as aifi- 
cult as possible to his opponent to play it, 
while the latter must take it as it comes, and 
very often be only too glad if he can get it 
duly back to the wall, without any con¬ 
sideration of the chance it may offer to th 
former ; so that the server may often havt 
a series of easy balls to play, while he is en¬ 
abled to return them in such a manner that 


HANDBALL. 

his opponent must strain every nerve to 
keep the ball up. This cannot but tell in 
his favor, and in this way a first-rate server 
will very often get the better of a much 
more active and brilliant, though less crafty 
player. 

When four play, they play two against 
two, and the game proceeds exactly as 
above, it only being necessary that the ball 
should be played by one of either side alter¬ 
nately. Usually they divide the ground 
between them, one of either side standing 
near the wall and the other well back. 































































PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


313 


How to Play Real Golf on a Five Acre 

fleadow. 

It is interesting for all lovers of golf to 
know that golf is being played on small links 
with a new ball in place of the hard, ivory 
ball, which is used on large links. This 
ball was born of necessity, on the New Eng¬ 
land coast, and has filled a long felt want. 

55 



The principle involved is, of course, light¬ 
ness, which deprives it of carrying power. 
As this ball cannot be driven more than fifty 
yards, it calls for a shorter course, and thus 
makes it possible to play the regular game 
on abbreviated links. 

Any lawn or large lot or old field will do 
to begin on. The holes may be placed at 
fifty, seventy-five or one hundred 
yards apart, and be situated ac¬ 
cording to the ingenuity or taste 
of the player or players. 

Where the ground will permit 
it the wooden clubs should be 
used, especially if the balls are of 
soft wood, as the irons split and 
scar them readily. Yet these balls 
of wood are so cheap that their 
destruction is really of small 
moment. 

These balls are not generally 
on the market, but persons who 
find it difficult to get them made 
of cork, will find the pine ones 
are easily made and might be 






Certain naval officers fond of 
golf found it difficult to get to the 
club links to which they were 
invited at places visited by the 
fleet, and so were often deprived 
of much needed exercise and re¬ 
laxation ; whereupon Captain 
Wright, of the North Atlantic 
Squadron, devised a ball of cork 
(or of pine) and improvised a course in a 
five acre meadow where successful golf was 
played, at ports visited by this squadron. 

This ball might be utilized extensively by 
the vast army of people deprived of regular 
links by distance, expense or want of time. 
The new ball of ~ork or of light wood is the 
same size as the regulation ball, and when 
painted resembles it closely. 





\ \ 

-j-JffnJ COOPSeJ. IAID Av 

OOfUT a WANT! XOT, TORCEAD \ \ 

PETTY I1W3 \ \ P., 

swfemA to* ^ 


turned in any carpenter shop where there is 
a lathe. Soft white pine will be found to 
be the lightest and most satisfactory mate¬ 
rial fora cheap and useful ball. They can 
be made at a ridiculously low price—say 
fifteen cents per dozen. 

The balls should be about one and three- 
quarters of an inch in diameter, or a shade 














3H 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


less, and crisscrossed on the surface with the 
edge of the chisel. 

To paint them stick a pin in lightly and 
submerge in a can of thin enamel paint 
(white) and suspend by a string attached to 
the pin till thoroughly dry. 

Suggestions for lay¬ 
ing off small links will 
be seen in the accom¬ 
panying diagrams. 

The advantages of 
this ball are the fol¬ 
lowing :— 

No caddy is neces¬ 
sary (though always 
desirable), as the short 
distance enables the 
player to locate his 
lies easily, and the 
use of but one club 
(wooden driver) leaves 
no bag to carry. 

For those seeking 
economy it can be 
played at slight ex¬ 
pense. 

Convenience is its 
:hief recommenda¬ 
tion . 

It affords both in¬ 
creased practice and 
exercise. 

This ball “lofts” 
beautifully, and at the 
start off sails away as 
promisingly as the 
heavier ball, so that 
the eye loses none of 
the delight experien¬ 
ced in a successful 
drive. 

If it has a disadvan¬ 
tage it will be found 
in “putting” prac¬ 
tice, where its light¬ 
ness may prove disap¬ 
pointing at first. 

But, taken all together, the dead ball is a 
real discovery, and will meet with favor and 
prove a boon generally. 


Aerial Archery Game. 

Shooting at artificial birds with bows and 
arrows is a new sport. The target in such 
cases is at the top of a pole, which is about 
ninety feet in height, and it is composed of a 
series of small wooden birds, into wdiich 

feathers have been deftly 
stuck and which are securely 
fitted into a rack or frame. 
One of the birds is a little 
higher than the others and 
is known as the cock. The 
aim of the archers is to dis¬ 
lodge all the birds, and when 
this is done the rack is let 
down to the ground and a 
new target is placed in it. 

In order to become skilled 
at this sport long practice 
and exceptional keenness of 
sight are necessary. More¬ 
over, as the birds are fas¬ 
tened very firmly in the 
rack, unusually strong bows 
must be used to dislodge 
them, and such bows can 
only be handled by men of 
considerable strength. 

The arrows used for this 
purpose, instead of termina¬ 
ting in a point in the ordin¬ 
ary manner, have at the end 
a piece of horn shaped like a 
bullet. While the game is 
going on a man collects the 
arrows that have fallen, and, 
in order to protect himself 
from being injured by those 
in the air, he wears an im¬ 
mense hat, made of wicker 
work, the brim of which is 
an admirable safeguard for 
his head, shoulders and 
back. 

It is estimated that in 
France alone there are thirty 
thousand men who practise 
archery and who belong to 
societies devoted to this 
sport. These societies hold a tournament 
every year, at which handsome prizes are 
offered in competition. Archers from all 


























































PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


3*5 


partr of the country attend on such occa¬ 
sions, and, while some display their skill in 
Shooting at the ordinary target, others elicit 
admiration by the skill with which they 
" &nock rom their pedestals artificial birds 
that are ninety feet up in the air. Indeed, 
no archer at any of these tournaments wins 
more admiration than the man who dis- 


of the darts. For this purpose the tube is 
much used by the youth of Paris and other 
towns in France, and tubes form a regular 
article of sale in the toy-shops, where they 
may be had of all degrees of excellence, 
from the simple, roughly got up metal tube 
to the highly finished production—a piece of 
bamboo with a copper tube running through 



fodges the topmost bird, the cock, from his 
lofty perch. 

Puff and Dart. 

This is a weapon of warfare—and a terri¬ 
ble one too*—reduced to the condition of a 
toy. 

Strictly the game consists in blowing a 
dart out of a tube like an enlarged pea¬ 
shooter at a target similar in arrangement to 
that used in archery, but, of course, much 
smaller ; but the tube may also be used and 
do much execution with clay pellets instead 


the centre, with a screw top and ferule to 
protect it when not in use, exactly like our 
walking-stick fishing-rods. 

The natives of Borneo and of the tropical 
parts of South America use tubes and darts 
as weapons of warfare and the chase ; but 
the tubes are of much greater length, rang¬ 
ing up to ten or even twelve feet; and the 
darts, quite insignificant in size, derive their 
whole efficacy from the terrible poison in 
which their points are dipped—a poison so 
deadly that a mere flesh wound is sufficient 
to seal the doom of man or beast. 







































































316 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


Very efficient darts for all the purposes of 
the game may be made as follows : Get a 
few penholder sticks, and cut them into 
lengths of about two inches ; next take some 
worsted, and bind it firmly to the end of 
each stick, leaving a series of loops proj< ct- 
ing beyond; the exact quantity for < a(3i 
dart must be ascertained by experiment. 
Now for the spike. Take a common brad, 
file up the sharp end into a good point, not 
too fine ; dip the point into the grease of a 
candle, and hold it in the flame till it is 
nearly red hot, and then plunge it into cold 
water ; this will harden it. Now file off the 
projecting piece of metal at the end, and, 
having bored a hole somewhat too small in 
the end of your stick, force the blunt end 
of the nail into it, and then bind it round 
firmly with waxed thread. A little sealing- 
wax varnish over all will both improve its 
appearance and add to the strength of the 
binding. Now trim the worsted off care¬ 
fully with a pair of scissors, and your dart 
is complete; a far better one, too, than 
those ordinarily sold in the shops. Such a 
dart from a three-foot tube will go through 

an almost incredible 
number of sheets of 
paper at ten or twelve 
paces distance, and 
will, if carefully made, 
fly with wonderful ac¬ 
curacy. 

There is, however, 
a kind of dart you 
may buy in the shops, 
which is far superior 
to anything likely to 
be produced by home 
work. It consists of 
a sharp, bayonet¬ 
shaped steel spike, 
almost two inches in 
length, fitted into the smaller end of a fun- > 
nel-shaped piece of gutta-percha (see figure). 
The gutta-percha, being thin, readily takes 
the shape of the bore, and the cavity gives 
an extraordinary purchase for the action of 
the wind. 

Ring the Bull. 

This amusing game requires more care 
and delicacy of touch than at first seems to 
be the case. 



The apparatus of the game is very sim¬ 
ple, consisting of a bull’s head painted on a 
board, with a hook in its nose and another 
on each horn. In the top of the board is 
fixed a horizontal rod, to the end of which 
is suspended a ring by a piece of string. The 
players stand in succession in front of the 
bull, take the ring and try to fling it so that 



it shall be caught on the nook in the bull’s 
nose. Each player has nine throws, and he 
who succeeds the greatest number of times 
wins the game. 

It is tolerably easy to throw the ring on 
the hook, but not easy to throw it so that it 
shall stay there, and the “knack” of the 
game consists in throwing it with just suffi¬ 
cient force to reach the hook. 

In another modification of the game the 
string is lengthened to twelve or fifteen feet, 
and has a slip-noose at the end. The other 
end of the string is not fastened to the end 
of the horizontal rod, but held in the left 
hand, while with the right the player tries 
to throw the loop over the two hooks in the 
bull’s horns. If he can catch them both he 
scores two, and if he catches only one of 
them, he scores one. Each player has six 
throws. 

Jack’s Alive. 

In this very amusing game little is re¬ 
quired except the Jack, i. e., the figure of a 
sailor cast in metal so as to be very heavy, 
a number cf colored balls, and three draw¬ 
ing-pins. 

Before commencing the game the three 
drawing-pins are stuck into the floor in a 
line, the Jack being placed on the central 
pin, which is generally some five paces from 
each of the others. The whole of the space 
behind the line of the three pins is called 
“ Jack’s ground.” Sometimes the game is 
played on a lawn, and in this case three 
wooden pegs are substituted for the draw¬ 
ing-pins. The following are the rules, as 



















TYPICAL SCENES IN THE WEST INDIES. 

.Showing natives bringing together a pile of cocoanuts ready to be removed from their hulls, and other 
natives on the road to market, leading their useful though homely donkeys. 



















HOW A BOY OF GENIUS ENTERTAINED HIMSELF. 


No more wonderful and curious discovery of modern times has been made than that of the power of 
steam. James Watt became famous by turning to practical purposes what at first enter¬ 
tained and amused him. 




























































PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 




entered at Stationer’s Hall, London, Eng¬ 
land, by Messrs. Jaques & Son : 

Laws and Instructions. —The game of 
Jack’s Alive can be played by eight or a 
lesser number of players ; each player to 
take a ball of distinctive color, and retain it 
during the game ; Jack to be placed upon 
his stand ten or twelve yards from the 
throwing point. 

These points settled, each player stations 
himself at the starting-peg and pitches his 
ball toward Jack. The unlucky player 
whose ball shall be decided to be the great¬ 
est distance from Jack becomes “Jack’s 
master.” The game now begins. Jack’s 
master has the active duty to perform of 
keeping Jack on his stand whilst the other 
players amuse themselves by con¬ 
tinually knocking Jack down by 
pitching their balls (after the man¬ 
ner of quoits) at him from the 



JACK’S ALIVE 


starting-point. Every time Jack is knocked 
off his stand that player scores one. 

When a player has delivered his ball he 
has then to fetch it back to the starting- 
point ; in so doing he must pass within 
either of the pegs defining Jack’s ground. 

If Jack’s master capture any player in re¬ 
turning to the starting point whilst Jack is 
alive, or on his stand, that player becomes 
Jack’s master. Jack is alive when on his 
stand ; but if knocked off he is dead, and, 
when dead, any player can return with his 
ball to the starting-point with safety. 

In returning to the starting-point each 
player must take up his ball fairly with his 
hand or hands ; if he once touch it his ball 
is alive or in play, and Jack’s master can 
capture the player. 


The game may be made twenty-five, fifty, 
or any number up. If a sweepstake be played 
for, the player who first scores the num¬ 
ber agreed upon as game claims the stake. 
If all players should have delivered their 
balls, so that no player remains within the 
starting-point, Jack’s master may in that 
case—Jack being alive—regain the starting- 
point if he can, and if he does so before any 
other player he ceases to be Jack’s master. 
A new master is determined as at first. 

Any player going outside the pegs defin¬ 
ing Jack’s ground in returning to the start¬ 
ing-point is guilty of foul play. 

Any attempt to remove the balls by kick¬ 
ing or other means than the one above ex¬ 
pressed is foul. 

Any player detected at foul 
play must at once become 
Jack’s master; and in all cases 
of dispute the matter must be 
instantly decided “fair” or 
“ foul ” by a show of hands of 
all the players. 

When Jack is replaced upon 
his stand, the next player, before 
delivering his ball, must call out 
“ Play.” 

Modifications of these rules 
can be arranged and agreed to, 
but they should be clearly under¬ 
stood at the commencement of 
the game. This exciting pas¬ 
time can be played almost any¬ 
where if there be space enough. 
It requires no previous tuition, and it in¬ 
variably provokes laughter and good spirits; 
the exercise, though not fatiguing, is suffi¬ 
cient to produce good health. 

Royal Star. 

This game is useful in testing accuracy 
of eye and aim, and is very popular with 
English boys, though almost unknown in 
this country. 

The machinery of the game consists of a 
large wooden star with eight long rays, each 
painted of a different color. The rays are 
not fastened but their bases are merely 
slipped into grooves in the body of the star, 
so that they can be easily knocked out. 

There are also eight wooden balls, colored 
to correspond with the rays of the star. In 









3 l8 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


order to play the game, each player takes 
the balls, and, standing at a specified dis¬ 
tance, throws them at the star, so as to 
knock out the rays. If he succeeds in strik¬ 
ing out a ray of the same color as the ball, 
he scores two points ; but if the ray and 
ball are of different colors, he scores one 
point. If he should miss the star altogether, 
three points are deducted from his score. 

When he has thrown the eight balls, the 
rays are replaced and the next player takes 
the balls. 

Sometimes each player plays a counter 
into a pool, and instead of deducting three 
points from his score when he misses the 
star, he pays three counters into the pool. 

When this game is played, a curtain 
should be arranged behind the star to stop 
the balls. 


Revolving Ring. 

This game is played something like lawn 
billiards, except that there are six revolving 
rings instead of one, and that the ball is 
thrown and not pushed with a cue. As in 
the previous game, the rings and balls are 
painted of corresponding colors. 



The object of the game is to throw the 
six balls through the rings, each successful 
throw counting as three ; but when a ball 
passes through a ring of its own color the 
player scores six. 

This game is best played by having a 
pool, as mentioned in the royal star. 

Cup and Ball. 

In this game there is no infusion of 
chance, the whole interest lying in the dex¬ 
terity of the player. 

The cup is a piece of wood or ivory, with 
a point at one end, and a cup—the shallower 
and smaller the better—at the other. The 
ball is solid, with the exception of a hole, 
which ought to be just large enough to 
receive the point, and no larger. The ball 
is connected with the stem of the cup by 
means of a string, which, if possible, should 



be of soft silk, so as to avoid “kinking,’" 
which is obstructive to all play. 

The learner should begin with catching 
the ball in the cup. He should take the 
stem by the middle, taking care to hold it 
as lightly as possible between the ends of 
the fingers and thumb, and not to grasp it 

firmly. Many good 
players pass the 
string over the fore¬ 
finger ; but we be¬ 
lieve, after long ex¬ 
perience, that the 
ball can. be thrown 
more accurately, if 
the string hangs directly from 
the stem. The ball should be 
thrown upward by a slight jerk 
of the wrist, not of the whole 
arm ; and if properly done, it falls 
of its own accord into the cup. 
Just as the ball touches the cup, 
the right hand should be allowed 
to drop a little ; otherwise the ball, though 
it may fall into the cup, will roll out again. 

When the player can make sure of catch¬ 
ing the ball in this manner, he should hold 
the stem by the very point between the fore¬ 
finger and thumb, and practice catching the 
ball as before. He will find this rather 
difficult as the cup is apt to yield to one 
side or the other, and so let the ball roll out. 
In order to avoid this, the cup should be 
rather balanced than held, so that it is per¬ 
fectly upright when the ball comes into it. 

The next feature is to swing the ball into 
the cup instead of throwing it; and the 
most difficult feat that can be accomplished 
with the cup is to jerk the ball into the air 
as usual, and then rapidly pass the cup 
under the left wrist, so that when the ball 
settles in the cup the wrist is encircled by 
the string. A good player ought to be able 
to catch the ball in the cup with his eyes 
shut. 

Now we come to catching the ball on the 
point, which is a very difficult matter, and 
yet, difficult as it may seem, a moderate 
player ought to succeed ten times in twelve. 

In order to do this properly, hold the 
stem as represented in the illustration, and 
with the fingers of the right hand give the 
ball a smart spin. L,et it spin as far as it 






t 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


can in one direction, and allow it to spin 
back again for ten or twelve times ; watch 
that it is quite steady, and then throw it up 
as before. Turn the point upward as if you 
were aiming at the spot where the string 
enters the ball, and just as the ball touches 
the point let your hand sink slightly. 

If this be done properly, the ball settles 
itself on the point almost mechanically, and 
the proof of a really good catch is that the 
ball revolves several times after it has been 
caught. 

This game is invaluable for giving light¬ 
ness of touch, dexterity of hand and quick¬ 
ness of eve. 

o' 

The Whizzer. 

Get a circular piece of tin, three inches 
or more in diameter, and cut it round the 
edges in the form of a star. Bore two 



holes through it about an inch and a half 
apart; pass the two ends of a string through 
the holes ; tie them, and the toy is com¬ 
plete. When the tin star cannot be pro¬ 
cured, a big button will serve the purpose 
admirably. 

Hold an end of the double string in each 
hand, as seen in the illustration, and spin the 
tin star, or “ whizzer ” as we shall call it, 
until the string is twisted as far as it will bear. 
Now separate the hands, and the whizzer 
will revolve rapidly, and, when the hands 
are stretched wfide, will come to rest as 
shown in the illustration. 

But if, instead of allowing the hands to 
reach their fullest extent and to remain 
there, they are brought gradually together 
again, the cutter will revolve in the oppo¬ 
site direction, and wind itself up again. 
Thus it may be made to wind and unwind 
itself as long as the player likes. 

Lawn Cupolette. 

This game is played by means of seven 
pins, made so that they may either be driven 
into the ground or fixed on a board. Each 
pin is numbered, from one to seven. There 


319 

is a slight cup at the top of the pins. In 
each cup is placed a small ball or marble. 

To play the game, six of the pins are 
fixed in a -circle, with the seventh in the 



middle; and the players, standing at a 
given distance, take the wooden quoits, 
with which they try to knock the balls out 
of the cups. Before playing, they must 
name the pin at which they aim, and if they 
strike off the ball belonging to any other 
pin, the score goes to the adversary. If, 
however, he knocks off the ball at which he 
aims, and by the same throw strikes off one 
or more besides, he may score them all. 

In another version of the game, if the 
player can strike off the seven balls and 
have one or more quoits to spare, he may 
try to throw the quoits so as to fall upon 
the pins, and for every case in which he 
succeeds he adds the number of the pin to 
his score. 

Parlor Ringolette. 

This game, as seen from the illustration, is 
played with pegs which can be fastened 
firmly into a board, and with a correspond¬ 
ing number of wooden rings or quoits. 
When the pegs are set in their places, the 
first player takes the quoits and, standing at 
a specified distance, endeavors to throw the 
rings over the pegs. For every ring that 
fairly encircles a peg the thrower scores the 
number which is attached to the peg; but 



should more than one ring fall on the same 
peg, the score goes to the opponent. 

In this, as in all games where a ring has 
to be thrown, the ring should be held just 




































320 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


like a quoit, so that a spin may be commu¬ 
nicated to it and make it fly steadily to its 
mark. 

Rules.— i. The game of Ringolette is 
adapted for two or more players. 

2. The first player being decided upon, 
he places the board in the centre of the 
table, and standing about three feet or more 
from the board, commences his play. 

3. Each player takes the eight rings, and 
plays by pitching the rings on the pegs. 

4. Each ring that is fairly on the pegs 
counts according to the number indicated 
on the board. 

5. Should a player place more than one 
ring on each peg, it scores to the opposition. 

6. Three-score and one is a medium game; 
five-score and one a long game. 

These rules may be modified by agree¬ 
ment among the players, but not otherwise. 


swered “Yes,” and the result is that in nine 
cases out of ten the blow misses his head 
and falls 011 his shoulders or some other 
part of his body. 

In that case it is his turn to retaliate, and 
so the game goes on indefinitely, the sole 
object of the player who asks the question 
being to strike the other player’s head, and 
that of the player who answers to save his 
head from being struck. 

Stage=Coach. 

This game depends entirely for its spirit 
upon the inventive faculties of the person 
who tells the story upon which the game 
hinges. 

The players sit in a circle, and all but the 
story-teller take names, each of some part 
of the coach or its equipment: door, step, 
boot, wheels, coachman, horses, traces, etc. 



The New Cudgel Game. 

Here is a new game, which is causing a 
great deal of amusement at social gatherings 
in Europe. 

Two boys, or young men, are blindfolded, 
and in the right hand of each is placed a 
stout roll of paper in the form of a club or 
cudgel. The players then have to lie down 
on the carpet and to grasp each other by the 
left hand. Thereupon the fun begins. One 
of the players asks the other :— 

' ‘ Are you there ? ’ ’ 

When the answer “ Yes ” comes he raises 
his right hand and strives to hit with his 
cudgel the spot where, from the sound of 
the voice, he supposes the other player’s 
head to be. 

The other player, however, is at perfect 
liberty to move his head after he has an- 


The storyteller—when all are ready and 
know their respective names—begins a long 
tale about the adventures of this old coach, 
bringing it to all sorts of grief, and making 
the story as humorous as possible. The 
story ought to be told fluently, but not too 
fast to be readily followed by the audience. 
Every time any part of the coach is men¬ 
tioned, the player who has assumed its 
name must rise from his seat and sit down 
again, under penalty of a forfeit; and every 
time the old coach is mentioned, the whole 
party, with the exception of the story-teller, 
must do likewise. 

“My Lady’s Toilet’’ 

Somewhat like “Stage-coach.” Each 
player represents some article of the toilet— 
brush, comb, soap, perfume, brooch, etc.— 









PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


32 r 


and the lady’s maid stands in the middle of the 
circle, and calls for any article the lady is sup¬ 
posed to want. The personator of that arti¬ 
cle must then j ump up, or be fined a forfeit for 
negligence. Every now and then the abigail 
announces that her lady wants her whole 
toilet, when the whole circle of players must 
rise and change places. The lady’s maid 
herself makes a bolt for a chair, and the 
player who is left chairless in the scuffle be¬ 
comes lady’s maid. 

Jackstraws. 



This is a game of pure manual dexterity, 
and is rare practice for cultivating steadiness 
of hand and delicacy of touch. 

Its worst fault is that in the very nature 

of the game a 
constant series 
of deadlocks 
are inevitable, 
only to be 
overcome b y 
the self-sacri¬ 
fice of one or 
other of the 
players. 

Jackstraws 

are a number of thin narrow slips of wood, 
bone or ivory, each more or less notched, 
sometimes cut into fantastic shapes, and 
numbered. 

These being held together in a bundle, 
are allowed to fall on the table, and the 
players, two or more in number, each in 
turn pull them out one by one with a small 
hook. As long as a player can go on ab¬ 
stracting from the heap, without in any way 
shaking or disturbing more than one jack¬ 
straw at the time, his turn continues, and 
all he thus secures he keeps; at the least 
shake his turn ceases, and the next player 
goes on. 

When all the jackstraws have been thus 
abstracted, each player counts his heap, 
each jackstraw being valued at the number 
inscribed on it, and he who has most wins. 

German Dwarf. 


This is a capital deception, and, if well 
carried out, one sure to please the specta¬ 
tors, who, unless they are in the secret, will 
try in vain to solve the mystery. 


To produce this entertaining illusion two 
persons only are absolutely necessary, but 
the assistance and co-operation of a third 
will prove of great service both in making 
preliminary preparations and in carrying 
out the deception. 

The other requisites are a table, of the 
dressing-table character, with a long cloth 
sweeping the ground, and a pair of cur¬ 
tains. 

These curtains must be hung over the 
doorway between the two rooms, or at the 
opening of some suitable recess, and the 



table, with its cloth so arranged as to allow 
no one to see underneath it, must be placed 
in front. 

The exhibition should be held, if possi¬ 
ble, in a separate room, from which the 
public must be rigorously excluded whilst 
the dwarf is being “ got up.” If, however, 
this be not practicable, another curtain 
should be brought over the front of the 
table until the dwarf is in his place ; in fact, 
in either case a double set of curtains, one 
in front and the other behind the table, is a 
great advantage. 

The dwarf is managed thus : The taller of 
the two chosen to enact that part carefully 




t 


21 H 







































322 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


disguises his face with a wig, a false mus¬ 
tache and beard, and a liberal application of 
burnt cork and rouge, and having divested 
himself of his coat, pulls over his hands and 
arms a pair of stockings, which should be of 
some bright color—preferably scarlet—and 
over them a pair of shoes, ornamented at the 
instep with enormous buckles or rosettes. 

The shorter of the two then standing 
behind him, thrusts his arms as far as they 
will go under his confederate’s armpits, and 
a kind of tunic or other suitable garment is 
brought over all. 

This tunic, of course, must be made for 
the purpose, and should be as extravagant 
as possible in color and cut: a good-sized 
crimped frill or enormous turn-down collar 
is very effective. 

Thus arrayed, the first-mentioned, stand¬ 
ing behind the table, places his shoe-clad 
hands upon it, which thus represent the feet 
of the dwarf, and the curtains, which are 
fastened together a few inches above his 
head, are drawn apart so as just to reveal 
what appears to be the body of a dwarf with 
a most disproportioned head. By the way, 
a boy with a big head should generally be 
selected for this part, and its size should be 
exaggerated by art. 

He must remember to lean slightly over 
tbe table ; in fact, he should stand in the 
attitude of a man making an after-dinner 
speech, or the legs will not appear to sup¬ 
port the body, and thus much of the like¬ 
ness to a freak will be destroyed. 

The third accomplice, who also under¬ 
takes the part of showman, must now admit 
the public, and introduce to them his won¬ 
derful lusus natures. 

The part of showman is, perhaps, the most 
important of the three, for upon his wit and 
readiness will depend all the real fun of the 
affair; the dwarf by itself can be but an 
object of passing curiosity, unless occasion 
be taken to make it a peg to hang some fun 
upon. 

It is impossible for us to put words into 
the showman’s mouth ; we would only ad¬ 
vise him to get up his “ patter,” as the 
showman’s talk is called, as far as possible 
beforehand, imitating and parodying the 
regular professional giant and dwarf show¬ 
man to the best of his ability. 


Of course, the more ridiculous and impos¬ 
sible his statements are the better. His his¬ 
tory, geography, etc., should be hopelessly 
at fault. A very good plan is to describe 
his dwarf as a thousand years old, and make 
him take part in the most incongruous his¬ 
torical events, jumbling up persons, locali¬ 
ties and dates in hopeless confusion. 

This “ patter ” must be poured out in one 
continuous stream, and with perfect confi¬ 
dence and self-possession, or it loses half its 
attraction. 

Both dwarf and showman, if they want to 
produce a really striking effect, must prac¬ 
tice their parts together for some time pre¬ 
viously. 

If the dwarf can get up a dance, or play a 
short tune upon a penny whistle, or perform 
some other similar feat, it will add much to 
the success of the show. 

This whistle business is difficult at first, 
because the hands do not belong to the 
owner of the mouth, and they must be 
guided by feeling alone, for their owner can¬ 
not see anything ; but the difficulty may be 
overcome, and that without very much de¬ 
mand upon the learner’s patience. 

He who does the head and legs’ part must 
be careful not to forget his part: a moment¬ 
ary forgetfulness may betray him into the 
most ludicrous mistakes. 

The writer’s brother one day, while offici¬ 
ating in this capacity, was suddenly afflicted 
with an intense itching of the nose. Mo¬ 
mentarily oblivious of his part, he lifted his 
shoe-clad hand to his nose to scratch the 
seat of irritation, an action that, of course, 
raised shouts of laughter from the audience, 
for the dwarf appeared to be “ taking a 
sight,’ ’ not with his thumb and fingers, but 
with his toes. 

Fortunately the spectators looked upon 
this as part of the performance, and were 
proportionately delighted ; but similar mis¬ 
takes may not prove equally fortunate. 

A Spectre Lamp: A Party Pastime. 

Here is a trick which is always very 
effective at a party or any gathering of 
young people, and sometimes with older 
persons, too. 

Take a tin cup, or a cup of some other 
metal, and fill it almost full of spirits of 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


323 


wine, into this put a teaspoonful of common 
table salt and stir it thoroughly until the 
salt is dissolved. Place this upon a wire 
frame and fix the frame over a spirit lamp, 
or a dark lantern, so that none of the light 
from the lantern can shine into any part of 
the room. This should be done in one end 
of the room and the company seated in a 
line as near the centre of the room as pos¬ 
sible for convenience to all. 

As soon as the cup gets so hot that you 
cannot rest the tip of your finger against it, 


will lose all its previous tint and become a 
ghastly solid yellow. 

You will hardly be able to recognize your 
little friends, and they will scarcely know 
you. Their hair, faces, clothes, the chairs 
they sit on and all the rest of the furniture, 
the carpet, in fact, everything in the room 
will look as if it had suddenly received a 
thick coat of yellow paint. This is a very 
quick way of changing brunettes to blondes, 
and there will not be a single laddie or lassie 
with raven tresses in the room. 



THE SPECTRE LAMP 


hold a lighted match near the mixture of 
spirits of wine and salt. A very small yel¬ 
low flame will arise from the surface and 
gradually increase in size. Now put out the 
other light in the room and in a moment 
you will observe a most peculiar effect. 
Everything in the room, whatever its pre¬ 
vious color, will now be a most positive 
yellow. If the yellow light from the cup is 
not quite strong enough, throw some more 
salt in the mixture and then the yellow 
flames will be still stronger in color. Reds, 
dues, blacks, whites, greens, everything 


Now place an ordinary light at the ex¬ 
treme other end of the room, and the effect 
will be two lights, one white and the other 
yellow. You must be careful not to have 
the white light stronger than the yellow one, 
and then while one-half of each will appear 
in its proper colors, the other half will sti’l 
be a vivid yellow and the dividing lines will 
be sharply defined. 

To get the best effect of this you and your 
friends should be seated in two lines facing 
each other, with a light on each end of the 
lines. 


f 
























3 2 4 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


A little girl with, black liair and a gray 
dress, for instance, will present a most pecu¬ 
liar appearance—looking perfectly natural 
on one side, while on the other side she will 
be yellow from head to toe. 

Fright. 

This is a very lively game, with plenty of 
fun and excitement in it. It is played as 
follows : 

Supposing there be twelve players, one is 
chosen as leader ; ten chairs are then placed 
in a row, facing different ways, alternately 
back and front, and the remaining eleven 
players range themselves in a line round 
them, with their right sides to the chairs. 
The leader now gives the word ‘ ‘ Slow 
march ! ’ ’ upon which they march in slow 
time round the chairs in single file ; ‘ ‘ Quick 
march ! ” and then “ Slow march ! ” again, 
until, watching his opportunity when they 
are least prepared, he shouts out, “ Halt! ” 
At this word they must all endeavor to sit 
down, and as only one may occupy one 
chair, and as there are only ten chairs for 
eleven would-be sitters, one must neces¬ 
sarily be “ left out in the cold.” 

This fate entails a forfeit; the struggle, 
therefore, for seats is very exciting, for 
none is willing to be the “ old man out,” 
and sauve qui pent —each one for himself— 
is the order of the day. The arrangement 
of the chairs alternately back and front adds 
amazingly to the perplexity of the unfor¬ 
tunate member in search of a seat, and it is 
very amusing to notice how lovingly the 
crafty ones cling to the chairs which have 
their seats towards them, how carefully they 
eschew the backs—how it takes at least 
three steps to pass the former, while the 
latter are easily cleared in one. 

It adds very much to the spirit of the 
game, and indeed improves it very much in 
every way, if, instead of having a leader, a 
march is played on the piano. The players 
must keep time to the music, and its cessa¬ 
tion is the signal to be seated. A good 
pianist will lead the players a pretty life, 
trying them with all sorts of time, and in¬ 
volving them in all sorts of troubles. A very 
effective plan is to make pretense with a 
good sounding chord or two of coming to a 
full stop, and then dart off into a lively 


quick march. One or two of the extra sharp 
players are sure to be taken in, and to make 
a dart for seats ; give them just time to get 
out of their seats and rejoin the ranks, and 
then, while they are yet covered with con¬ 
fusion, and demoralized by their mistake, 
stop in right earnest. A “heavy bag ” may 
be looked upon as a certainty. 

Head, Body and Legs. 

This is a very amusing game, and will 
afford an almost endless fund of amuse¬ 
ment. 

Though it is a drawing game, yet it does 
not require that the players should be art¬ 
ists, or even in the ordinary sense be able to 
draw ; a mere faculty—which nearly all 



schoolboys possess—of being able to scrawl 
some distant resemblance to a living crea¬ 
ture is all that is necessary ; in fact, the 
worse the drawing of the several parts the 
more amusing is commonly the result of the 
whole. The most approved method of pro¬ 
cedure is as follows : 

Three or more players sit round a table, 
each with a sheet of paper folded into three, 
and a pencil. Each draws a head, of man, 
of beast, of fish, etc., according to the fancy 
of the moment, on the upper third, carrying 
the lines of the neck just over the fold as a 
guide to the next artist, and folds it down, 
and then passes it to his left-hand neighbor. 

Each then, on this new paper, draws a 
body, working from the lines of the neck 
above mentioned, but, of course, in total 
ignorance of the nature of the head thereto 
belonging, carries the lines over the next 
fold, doubles down, and passes the paper as 
before. 

Each now, working from the lines brought 
over, affixes a pair of legs—the more eccen¬ 
tric the better—to the unknown body. The 
papers are then passed to the chairman who 








PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


325 


opens them and shows them for public 
inspection. The combinations produced in 
this way are most extraordinary, and often 
raise shouts of laughter. 

The illustration is a facsimile of a draw¬ 
ing thus produced while describing the game 
to the draughtsman. 


his feet in a kind of stirrup fastened to 
straps passing over the under one’s shoul¬ 
der’s, and hanging just down to the hips. 
Height, of course, is sacrificed, but greater 
safety is secured ; the giant, too, can exhibit 
thus for a longer time, as the altitude is not 
so fatiguing. ' 





f I 

The Giant. 

This may be done in two ways : first and 
most difficult, by one boy standing on an¬ 
other’s shoulders, and then putting over 
both a long loose garment, long enough to 
reach to the knees of the lower one. 

This method, however, may be made 
much more easy by the upper player putting 


The other and simpler method is to place 
a huge mask, which should represent a head 
and neck, on the top of a pole about five 
feet long, with a cross-piece to represent 
arms, and then tying a long cloak—it should 
be made for the purpose: any common 
material will do—round the neck of the 
mask and get bodily inside. 

Nov/, by raising or depressing the pole, 
the giant may be made to attain an extra¬ 
ordinary stature or to shrink down again to 
ordinary dimensions as well. 

The lower end of the cloak, about two 
feet from the bottom, must be fastened to 















































3 2 6 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


the performer’s waist, so that when the head 
is depressed the cloak may fall in folds, and 
not sweep the ground as it otherwise would. 

There is a very entertaining illusion of 
this sort exhibited under the name of “ The 
Nondescripts.” Two figures with enor¬ 
mous heads, alternately giants and dwarfs, 
run about the circus and indulge in the 
most surprising vagaries, being able appar¬ 
ently to contort themselves in every imag¬ 
inable direction. 

Their final coup is to put their heads 
deliberately through their legs, and make 
their exit with their eyes thus looking over 
their own shoulders. 

A Cheap Way of Being Generous. 

Take a little common white or beeswax, 
and stick it on your thumb. Then speaking 
to a bystander, you show him a dime, and 
tell him you will put the same into his 
hand ; press it down upon the palm of his 
hand with your waxed thumb, talking to 
him the while and looking him in the face. 
Suddenly take away your thumb, and the 
coin will adhere to it ; then close his hand, 
and he will be under the impression that he 
holds the dime, as the sensation caused by 
the pressing still remains. You may tell 
him he is at liberty to keep the coin ; but 
on opening his hand to look at it he will 
find, to his astonishment, that it is gone. 

The Famous Mountebank Trick. 

In the days when merry-andrews and 
mountebanks met with a hearty welcome on 
every English village green no conjuring 
trick was more popular than this ; yet there 
are few that can be performed with less diffi¬ 
culty. You first of all procure a long strip 
of paper, or several smaller strips pasted 
together, two or three inches wide. Color 
the edges red and blue, and roll up the paper 
like a reel of ribbon. Before doing so, how¬ 
ever, securely paste a small piece of cotton 
at the end you begin to roll. Then, when 
the proper time has arrived, you take hold 
of this cotton, and begin to pull out a long 
roll which very much resembles “a barber’s 
pole.” In order to perform this trick with 
good effect, have before you some paper 
shavings, which may easily be procured at 
any bookbinder’s, and commence to appear 


to eat them. The chewed paper can be re¬ 
moved each time a fresh handful is put into 
the mouth; and when the proper time and 
opportunity have arrived, put the roll into 
the mouth and pull the bit of cotton, when 
a long roll comes out, as before described, 
to the astonishment of the audience. 

A more elegant but similar feat is the fol¬ 
lowing, which we will .style 

Bringing Colored Ribbons! From the 

flouth. 

Heap a quantity of finely carded cotton¬ 
wool upon a plate, which place before you. 
At the bottom of this lint, and concealed 
from the company, you should have several 
narrow strips of colored ribbons, wound 
tightly into one roll, so as to occupy but 
little space. Now begin to appear to eat 
the lint by putting a handful in your mouth. 
The first handful can easily be removed and 
returned to the plate unobserved while the 
second is being “ crammed in.” In doing 
this, care should be taken not to use all the 
lint, but to leave sufficient to conceal the 
roll. At the last handfull, take up the roll 
and push it into your mouth without any 
lint; then appear to have had enough, and 
look in a very distressed state, as if you 
were full to suffocation ; then put your 
hands up to your mouth, get hold of the 
end of the ribbon and draw, hand over hand 
yards of ribbon as if from your stomach. 
The slower this is done the better the effect. 
When some ribbon is off the roll, your 
tongue will assist you in pushing another 
end ready for the hand. You will find 3^011 
need not wet or damage the ribbons in the 
least. This is a trick which is frequently 
performed by one of the cleverest conjurers 
of the day. 

Curious Watch Trick. 

By means of this trick, if a person will 
tell you the hour at which he means to dine, 
you can tell him the hour at which he means 
to get up next morning. First ask a person 
to think of the hour he intends rising on the 
following morning. When he has done so, 
bid him place his finger on the hour, on the 
dial of your watch, at which he intends din¬ 
ing. Then—having requested him to re¬ 
member the hour of which he first thought 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


3 2 7 


—you mentally add twelve to the hour upon 
which he has placed his finger, and request 
him to retrograde counting the hours you 
mention, whatever that may be, but that he 
is to commence counting with the hour he 
thought of from the hour he points at. For 
example, suppose he thought of rising at 
eight, and places his finger on twelve as the 
hour at which he means to dine, you desire 
him to count back twenty-four hours : be¬ 
ginning at twelve he counts eight, that being 
the hour he thought of rising, eleven he calls 
nine, ten he calls ten (mentally, but not 
aloud), and so on until he has counted 
twenty-four, at which point he will stop, 
which will be eight, and he will probably be 
surprised to find it is the hour he thought of 
rising at. 

Plumes for the Ladies. 

The following very clever trick was a 
favorite with M. Houdin, and was performed 
by him at St. James’s Theatre, where it 
drew forth a good deal of admiration. When 
known, however, it appears like a great 
many other tricks, very simple and easy. 

Procure two or three large plumes of 
feathers, or a lot tied together. Take off 
your coat and hold one lot in each hand, so 
that the plumes will be in a line parallel 
with the arms. Put your coat on again, and 
press the feathers into small compass. Ask 
some one to lend you a large silk handker¬ 
chief, throw it over one hand and part of 
the arm, and with the other quickly draw 
the feathers from that arm. The plumes 
being released from their imprisonment will 
spread out and resume their bulky appear¬ 
ance, and the onlookers will be completely 
baffled as to where they could have come 
from. Then repeat the process with the 
other arm. 

The Ink and Fish Trick. 

This trick, originally introduced by M. 
Houdin, has been performed by every wizard 
since. On the table is placed a large goblet 
containing apparently several pints of Jnk. 
A small quantity of ink is taken out with a 
ladle, and, being poured out into a plate, is 
handed round to the company to satisfy 
them that it really is ink. A handkerchief 
is then covered over the goblet, and upon 


being instantly withdrawn, reveals the glass 
now full of water, in which swim gold- and 
silver-fish. The trick is thus performed: 
A black silk lining is placed inside the gob¬ 
let, and kept in its place by a wire ring. It 
thus forms a bag without a bottom, as it 
were, and when wet adheres close to the 
glass in which are the water and the fish. 
The next part of the deception is the ladle, 
which must be capable of containing as 
much ink as will induce the audience to 
believe that it was got from the goblet be¬ 
fore them. The ink must be concealed in 
the handle of the ladle, so that when it is 
lying on the table it will not be perceived ; 
but on being elevated, it must run into the 
ladle, through a small aperture made for the 
purpose. The black silk is easily withdrawn 
by the thumb and finger at the time the 
handkerchief is removed. It must be con¬ 
cealed within the folds of the handkerchief. 

Evanescent Money. 

“ ’Tis here, and ’tis gone ! ” This sim¬ 
ple but effective trick is done in the follow¬ 
ing manner: Stick a small piece of white 
wax on the nail of your middle finger ; lay 
a dime on the palm of your hand, and state 
to the company that you will make it vanish 
at the word of command, at the same time 
observing that many perform the feat by let¬ 
ting the coin fall into their sleeve; but to 
convince them that you have not recourse 
to any such deception, turn up the cuffs of 
your sleeves. Then close your hand, and 
by bringing the waxed nail in contact with 
the piece it will firmly adhere to it. Then 
blow upon your hand, and cry, “ Begone ! ” 
and suddenly opening it and extending your 
palm, you show the dime has vanished. 

Care must be taken to remove the wax 
from the coin before you restore it to the 
owner. 

The New Game of Roque. 

Roque — pronounced roke — is the per¬ 
fected game of croquet. Any one familiar 
with the latter can play roque. Croquet is 
played with large arches, wooden balls, long- 
handled mallets, on grass courts. To make 
it a scientific game the arches were nar¬ 
rowed, involving greater accuracy of stroke. 
Then came the perfecting of the balls, until 


3 28 


PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


a hard-rubber ball, almost equal to ivory, 
has been evolved, weighty, steady, and ad¬ 
mitting of perfect play. Next came the 
court, and from a grass court was evolved 
the present roque court, entirely free from 
grass, rolled and scraped and slightly sanded. 

The length of the court is seventy-two feet 
and the width thirty-six. This is the regula¬ 
tion size. But provided the proportions are 
retained a very satisfactory court may be 
made with a length of sixty feet and a width 
of thirty. The corners are eight feet inside 


b 



THE NEW GAME OF ROQUE 

measurement. The outside border, b, b, in 
the diagram given, is of timber about six 
inches by four, laid flat and jointed, against 
which caroms are made as in billiards. The 
inside line, z, z, z, is simply a line on the 
surface made by a marker with a project¬ 


ing nail point, and is, as indicated upon th*' 
diagram, thirty inches from the border. All 
balls resting nearer than thirty inches to the 
border are laid out on this line. 

The Construction of a Court. —The 
wickets should be of steel seven-sixteenths 
of an inch in diameter and three inches and 
a half between the wires, except the centre 
arch, which is a double one, eighteen inches 
from one arch to the other, but only three 
inches and three-eighths between the wires. 
The stakes, one inch in diameter but only 
an inch and a half high, are set just outside 
the border line. 

The first arch is seven feet distant from 
the border line. Seven feet farther is the 
second arch. At right angles to the second 
arch and six feet three inches from the tim¬ 
ber border is the third arch. The centre 
arch is set crosswise of the field at the cen¬ 
tre. All the other arches are easily placed 
because of relative settings. 

Upon the timber borders a ball readily 
caroms. But the more perfectly equipped 
courts are provided with rubber strips 
placed at the proper height on the timber 
borders so as to make the caroming of a 
ball easy. This rubber is generally the dis¬ 
carded rubber of billiard tables. 

The natural soil in almost any section is 
suitable for a court. Sometimes the surface 
will need grading. It should be as level as 
the foundation of a house. The early spring 
is the best time to begin to get the court 
ready. The upper part for at least two 
inches should be sifted to make it free from 
all pebbles, and before the arches are set, 
or even the border is put down, it should 
be scraped and rolled, until a twelve or 
sixteen foot “straight edge ” laid in any 
direction will come in contact with the 
earth at every point. Then let the timber 
border be placed by some skilled workman, 
and lastly set the arches. These are set 
firmly in heavy blocks of wood at least four 
inches by six by eight in size and to the 
depth of four or five inches. A piece of 
steel, frequently half an inch in diameter, 
is used. Thirty-two inches long before 
bending will be ample, leaving the arch 
about nine or ten inches above the surface. 

The arches are set rigidly and earth well 
packed about them and all made perfectly 





















PLEASURES AND PASTIMES 


32 9 


level, as the finest and most skillful playing 
is about the arches. 

The balls are of solid rubber three inches 
and a quarter in diameter, and as the arches, 
regulation size, are only three inches and a 
half, it follows that only one-eighth of an 



inch is left on each side when the ball is 
placed in, or passes through, the arch. 
This gives an idea of the skill required in 
playing the game. The mallet is about 
seven inches long, with a short handle. 

How the Game is Played. — The 
course of the balls may be gathered from 
the diagram given by observing the direc¬ 
tion of the arrow-marked lines. 

The game is begun and continued as fol¬ 
lows, invariably only two persons playing, 
each with two balls. The order of the 
colors is red, white, blue, black. Red and 
blue are partners, also white and black. 


Suppose red has the choice of play. The 
red ball will be placed at either corner, as 
desired, at the head of the field ; its partner, 
blue, being diagonally opposite. White will 
be placed at the corner across the field from 
red, and black diagonally opposite white. 
Red can begin the game by playing at any 
other ball, as they are all in play. Gene¬ 
rally he plays for a ball at the lower end of 
the field, and, of course, has to bring them 
up before he or his partner can make the 
first arch. In case he cannot do this he 
will try to hide the next player (white) be¬ 
hind some wicket, so as to make it difficult 
for white to gain the balls. If red could 
not make progress he would leave the balls 
as favorably located as possible for his part¬ 
ner, blue, who, after white’s failure to gain 
the balls, would commence his run of the 
arches, and bring while into play, too, if it 
rested at the lower end of the field. Blue 
makes the first, the second and the third 
arches in the usual way by using the other 
balls, and as black is now the “ danger- 
ball ” he leaves it hidden behind the third 
arch after passing it, and having previously 
placed a ball at the centre he now utilizes 
this in making the difficult centre arch. 
Each succeeding arch made requires a repe¬ 
tition of similar tactics, till red and blue, or 
black and white, become rovers. 
















































































. 










































































































































































BOOK IV 



REE HAND 

MOVEMENTS 


FOR DEVELOPING THE BODY 

AND PRESERVING THE HEALTH 


INCLUDING 


Special Directions for Exercising all the Muscles 
of the Body, Securing Healthful Vigor ^ ^ v? 
Exercises for Head and Neck, Trunk, the Limbs, 
and to Develop Beauty and Symmetry of Form 


ALL EXERCISES ARE EXPLAINED BY ILLUSTRATIONS 
MADE FROM SPECIAL ARTISTS’ DRAWINGS 

33 1 





























EXERCISES FOR DEVELOPING THE 
BODY AND PRESERVING 
THE HEALTH 


It is only recently that people generally 
have begun to realize the importance of regu¬ 
lar exercise for the development of the body 
and the preservation of the health. We are 
beginning to feel that it is a sin to be sick. 
Physicians tell us that one-half of the sick¬ 
ness is due to the sin of over-eating, and 
almost the entire other half is due to the lack 
of properly exercising the body. 

There is a story in the Arabian Nights 
Tales of a king who had long languished 
under an illness, and had taken an abund¬ 
ance of remedies to no purpose. At length, 
says the fable, a physician cured him by the 
following method : He took a hollow ball of 
wood and filled it with several drugs, closing 
it up artificially. He also took a mall, and 
having hollowed the handle and that part of 
the mall which was used to strike the ball, 
enclosed in them such other drugs as had 
been usually administered to the patient. 
He then ordered the sultan, who happened 
to be this distinguished patient, to exercise 
himself in the morning by striking the ball 
with this mall until he should be in a vigor¬ 
ous perspiration. The ignorant sultan 
thought it was the drugs that cured him, 
but the wise physician knew it was the exer¬ 
cise. He only placed the drugs in the ball 
and the mall because the sultan had the faith 
in them necessary to induce the laborious 
exercise which alone could cure him. 

The moral of this story is, there ought to 
be regular exercise every day in some syste¬ 
matic manner. The great majority of man¬ 
kind have not the time or opportunity to 
join in athletic games or attend gymnasiums ; 
but physical culturists have discovered that 
a simple system of home training, without 
apparatus, may accomplish for the body 
nearly all the good results of the gymnasium. 


The following simple exercises, practiced 
by male or female, in their private apart¬ 
ments every morning, or better still, where 
it can be so arranged, by the whole family, 
once a day in concert (to the strength limit 
of the weakest, the stronger members con¬ 
tinuing individually until their requirements 
are met) will prove not only a health-pro¬ 
ducing, doctor-bill-preventing exercise, but 
a very pleasing pastime as well, in which 
the boys and girls and older members of the 
family will take delight. But these home 
gymnastics, if they are to be decided benefits, 
must be performed with persistent regularity, 
and the mind of the child should be trained 
to feel like they must be taken like the food, 
every day, and they should no more be missed 
than one of the meals. 

The average length of time for these exer¬ 
cises should be about half an hour, or even 
less according to the strength. Very strong 
persons may extend it to an hour, and the 
practice should be so long persisted in, that 
it grows into one of the habits of life. Those 
who look for striking results in a very short 
practice are doomed to disappointment, while 
persistence in these exercises will make 
strong and healthy men and women out of the 
weakest and most delicate children. Regula¬ 
rity in exercises will bring good result. 

President Roosevelt, one of the most vigor¬ 
ous and enduring of men, was so weak when 
he was a child that he could not be sent to 
the public schools. He recognized his weak¬ 
ness, and began a regular system of exercises 
in the open air, which each day grew more 
strenuous as his vigor and endurance in¬ 
creased. He is a prominent example of 
what exercise, properly taken and persist¬ 
ently indulged in, will do for a weak and 
delicate constitution. 


333 



334 


HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


We recommend to those about to enter 
upon the following course of movements to 
memorize the brief instructions which accom¬ 
pany them, and to decide for themselves the 
number of times that each movement is to 
be taken, and then with strict attention per¬ 
sistently discipline themselves to take these 
movements a definite number of times each 
day, increasing as you grow stronger. 

While the movements are being taken, the 
muscles as a rule should be tense, and the 
number of movements which are to be taken 
should be governed by the physical condi¬ 
tion of the performer, ceasing when a moder¬ 
ate fatigue is arrived at, never continued 
until complete exhaustion. The stomach 

should be as 
empty as pos¬ 
sible when the 
exercise is be¬ 
gun, and the 
dress should be 
comfortable 
and easy,leav¬ 
ing the move¬ 
ments free and 
unimpeded by 
the clothing. 
The neck and 
arms should be 
bare, or cov¬ 
ered with very 
light garments, 
and females 
should avoid 
the use of stays 
or heavy skirts. 

Exercises for 
the Head 
and Neck. 

a. Head 
Torsion. Stand 
in erect posi-< 
tion ; turn the head alternately to the right 
and left, looking first over one shoulder and 
then over the other. Hold the shoulders 
perfectly straight and avoid moving them. 

b. Head Bending. First, forward and 
backward. The head is bent forward as far 
as possible, so the chin touches the chest 
lightly, in a regular steady movement. The 
chin remains a moment on the chest, and is 



Fig. i. Head Bending 
Sidewise* 



then raised until it 
is bent backward 
raised to an erect 
position. Repeat 
several times. 

c. Headbend¬ 
ing Sidewise 
(Fig. i.) The head 
is bent exactly in 
the direction indi¬ 
cated in Fig. i, 
without twisting 
and without lift¬ 
ing the shoulders 
on one side 01 
lowering on the 
other. 

d. Head Rota¬ 
tion. The head 
is bent forward, 
then turned, side- 
wise to the left, 
then backwards, 
then sidewise to 
the ri g h t 
and again 
forward. 

The move¬ 
ment must 
be made in 
a regular 
steady man¬ 
ner. 


is again erect. Next it 
as far as possible, and 


Fig. 2 . Trunk Bend.ng 
Forward and Backward. 


Exercises 
for the 
Trunk. 

a. Trunk 
B ending 
Forward 
and Back¬ 
ward (Fig. 
2.) Hold 
the legs rig¬ 
idly, place 
t h e hands 
firmly on the 
hips as in 
Fig. 2. First 
the head is 


bent forward Fig ' 3- Trunk Bending Sidewise. 

and backward, then the trunk is moved 
quickly in the same direction, the angle being 

















HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


335 


formed at the hip joints, without bending 
the body or moving the legs. (See Fig. 2.) 
The shoulders should not be moved out of 
their position. The stretching should be 
done slowly. 

b. Trunk Bending Sidewise (Fig. 3.) 
With the hands resting on the hips the head 


1 

t 

» 

1 

• 

1 

1 

1 

• 

1 



shoulders are moved forward and backward 
as far as possible. Take a deep breath as 
the shoulders are moved backward, and expel 
it, sinking tlie chest as much as possible, as 
they are moved forward. 

b. Arm Raising Sidewise (Fig. 4.) 
Stand erect, arms hanging straight at side ; 
holding them at full length raise them straight 
out from the side steadily, until they reach 
a vertical position, as shown in Fig. 4. Ob¬ 
serve not to twist or bend the arms. While 
they are vertical, the palms are turned out¬ 
wards and the backs of the hands toward 
each other. Hold the fingers together as 
shown in the figure. In this position the 
arms should be raised and lowered slowly, 
the muscles being tense, a deep breath taken 
as they are raised and expelled slowly while 
being lowered. 

c. Arm Spreading. First raise the arms 
forward into a horizontal position. Starting 
from this the arms are moved outward and 
backward, then again forward without being 
lowered, until they are in the same position 
as at the beginning, with the hands touching, 


Fig. 4. Arm Raising. 

is bent sidewise to the right and left, then 
the trunk follows in the same direction as 
far as possible, without lifting the opposite 
foot. (See Fig. 3.) Avoid twisting the 
head or changing the position of the shoul¬ 
ders or hips. 

c. Trunk Rotation. The trunk is bent 
forward, and then, without straightening it 
again, sidewise to the left and then backward 
and sidewise to the right, or in reverse order, 
then again forward, and so on. The move¬ 
ments in this exercise should be quick. 

Shoulder and Arm Movements. 

a. Shoulder Movements. Hands on 
hips. Both shoulders are first moved for¬ 
ward easily, and then drawn backward vigor¬ 
ously, the elbows simultaneously with the 



or with the out¬ 
stretched palms 
crossed, as the 
performer may 
prefer, to begin 
and close the 
movement, it be¬ 
ing understood 
that all of these 
movements are 
to be repeated, 
as suggested at 
the beginning, 
according to the strength of the operator. 

d. Arm Rotation (Fig. 5.) Assume the 
position of Fig. 5, except that the arms make 


Fig. 5. Arm Rotation. 














HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


3 6 


a perfect right angle from the shoulders. 
Then whirl them by moderately rapid mo¬ 
tion, so as to describe a circle, as shown in 
the figure, the center of the circle being 
always even with the height of the shoulders, 
and the back of the hands always turned 
upward as shown in the figure. 

e . The Mill (Fig. 6.) 

The mill is an extension of 
the last movement, or arm 
rotation, into larger circles, 
and is performed in a continu¬ 
ous motion, backward as well as 
forward, by whirling the arms around 
in large circles, as shown in the figure, 


v> 


fi. 

(L''i 


f'i" 






v?.—.- 2 * 


being careful 
to keep the 
arms always 
perfectly 
straight and 
the muscles 
tense. 

/. Arm 
Bending, 
Stretch¬ 
ing (Fig. 7.) With the elbows resting 
against the sides, the forearms are drawn 
up so the fists touch the shoulders, as shown 
in the figure. ’ In this bent position the 
arms are vigorously stretched upward, 
forward, sidewise, backward and downward, 


Fig. 6. The Mill. 


7. Arm Bending and 
Stretching. 


stretching 
the arms 
quickly 
and vigor¬ 
ously. In 
order to do 
the thrust¬ 
ing down¬ 
ward ener- 
ge tically, 
the elbows 
should first 
be lifted 
up wards, as 
in Fig. 8. 
Then the 
thrust fol¬ 
lows. 

h. Beat¬ 
ing WITH 
THE FORE- 
A R M IN 

Raised 


the fingers being held 
fiimly together and ex¬ 
tended, the hands point¬ 
ing in the same direction 
as the arms. In the 
backward stroke avoid 

b e n d- 
ing the 
trunk. 
g . Arm 
Thrust 
(Fig. 8.) With the figure 
standing erect, the fore¬ 
arms are lifted to a 
horizontal position, the 
elbows are turned so far 
back that the wrists come 
into a line with the sur¬ 
face of the chest ; the 
fists are closed, and the 
shoulders should not be 
lifted. In this position 
the fists are thrust for¬ 
ward sidewise, upward 
or downward (always 
in a straight line) by 



Fig. 8. Arm Thrusting. 




















f 


HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


• 7 



Fig. g. Beating with Forearm in 
Raised Position* 


Position (Fig. 9.) 
The arms are raised 
sidewise into a hori- 
zontal position, 
backs of hands up¬ 
ward, forearms bent 
forward until the 
ends of the fingers 
touch. In this posi¬ 
tion the arms are 
moved slowly as 
far backward as 
possible on a level 
with each other and 
at full stretch. They 
may be moved slow¬ 
ly or with a swing- 
ingmotion. If de¬ 
sired, the hands 
may be closed in¬ 
to fists. This is an 
excellent exercise 
for warming the 
blood. In an im¬ 
proper manner we 
frequently see it 



F*g. 11. Leg Raising Sidewise. 


done on cold 
days by car 
drivers, and 
others who 
are exposed 
to the wea¬ 
ther. 

i. Hand Bend- 
1 n g AND 
Stretching 
(Fig. 10.) The 
arms are fully 
extended side- 
wise as in Fig. 
10 (or forward to 
vary the shoul¬ 
der support), the 
backs of the 
hands being 
turned upward. 
In this position 
the operator 
bends the hand 
upward in direc¬ 
tion of the backs 
of the hands, 
22 H Iy 



Fig. 10. Hand Bending and 
Stretching. 


and then downward in di¬ 
rection of the palms as far 
/-^ as possible, and follows 
with an equal number of 
sidewise bendings alternate¬ 
ly toward the thumb and 
toward the little finger. 

Exercises for the Legs. 

a. Leg Raising (Fig. 11), should be done 
in two ways : Raising the leg sidewise as in 
Fig. 11, and then backward and forward. 
In both exercises, begin with an erect posi¬ 
tions, the heels alwa} r s touching, the hands 
on the hips, with the leg fully stretched, and 
the muscles tense. Stiffening the knee raise 
the leg in each of the directions named (side- 
wise and backward) as far as possible, with¬ 
out bending the body, which must be kept 
erect; hold it for a moment in this raised 
position, then slowly lower it. 

b. Leg Swinging Forward and Back¬ 
ward (Fig. 12.) Placing the hand on the 
back of a chair to steady the body, as shown 
in figure, first one leg and then the other is 
swung energetically forward past the other 


9 















33 8 


HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 



IP’ — 1 

1 — 

1 

pi 



Ji 




leg, and then backward with equal 
force. In this exercise great care 
should be observed to hold the 
swinging foot so that the toes are 
pointed slightly downward and out¬ 
ward . 

c. Leg Torsion (Fig. 

Assume an erect 
position, with 
the hands on the 
hips and the 
heels touching. 

With the mus¬ 
cles tense, the 
performer then 
leaps with a 
straddling mo¬ 
tion, bringing 
the feet together 
so that one time 

% 

the heels and 
then the toes are 
turned outward, 
as shown by the 
diagrams below, 

Fig. 13. Follow 
this by assuming the same posi¬ 
tions without lifting the feet. 

This is done by a slight sim¬ 
ultaneous raising of the heels 
or of the toes and balls of the 
feet. 

d . The Deep Knee Bend 
(Fig. 14.) In this motion the 
bend should be as low as 
possible, until the seat almost 
touches the heels. The up¬ 
per part of the body should 
not incline to the front, but on 
the contrary, should be held 
in a vertical position from 
beginning to end of the exer¬ 
cise. The small of the back 
is drawn in, 
and the heels 
are raised as 
high as possi¬ 
ble, and must 
be kept togeth¬ 
er. There is 
no exercise 
which will 
show improve- Fig . I4 . Deep Knee Bend . 



ment on the part of the per¬ 
former more than this. Those 
who can lower themselves but a 
short distance at first will soon 
find it possible to go down al¬ 
most, or quite, upon their heels. 

e . Knee Raising and Teg 
Stretching (Fig. 15.) Begin 
with the heels together, body 
erect. Raise the knee so high 
that the thigh is in a horizontal 
position, being careful that the 
trunk is always 
held upright. With 
the knee hanging 
\ vertically down¬ 

ward, the foot bent 
\ slightly upward, as 
in Fig. 15, the 
whole leg is now 
quickly and vigor¬ 
ously extended and 
lowered, the thigh 
being lowered 


\ 


-A 


J 


Fig. 12. Leg Swinging. 


L 


t 


L. 


A • 
' / 
« 



slightly, as the 
foot is extended, 
but not enough 
to make the full 
stretching of the 
leg impossible. 
The supporting 
leg, of course, 
must be held rigid 
during the exer¬ 
cise. 

/. Raising the 
Lower Leg (Fig. 
16.) Assume an 
upright position, 
with the 
thumbs in 
the waist¬ 
band and 
heels to¬ 
gether. Al¬ 
ternately 
the left and 
right lower 
legs are 
raised 
b a c k w ard 



Fig. 13. Leg Torsion. 

















HOW TO DEVELOP THE BODY 


339 



by bending the knee as in 
Fig. 16, and lowered again 
slowly or with a swing. 
With practice, the leg may 
be carried so far that the 
heel will touch the seat. 
To perform the exercise pro¬ 
perly and most effective¬ 
ly great 
care 
must be 
taken 
that the 
thigh of., x 
themov- V 
ing leg 
be held 
perfect¬ 
ly verti¬ 
cal and 
close 


against 
the sup¬ 
porting 
leg. 


Fig. 15- Kne“ Raising Forward 
and Stretching. 


g . Standing on 
the Toes. Starting 
from an upright pos¬ 
ition, with the weight 
resting full on the 
soles, the foot is bent 
upward (without 
bending any joints ex¬ 
cept those of the ankle 
and the toes) until 
the whole weight of 
the body rests on the 
toes and balls of the 
only feet. 

The heels 
should be 
lifted as 
high as pos¬ 
sible; then 
let the body 
down slow¬ 
ly, and re¬ 
peat until a 
slight fati¬ 
gue is felt 



Fig. 


16. Raising Dower 
Lee. 






















. 







. 









































































































































































* 


























































* 
































































































































































































mSESKm 


Spinning nP* 
Flax and \u 
Wool 




Cooking 


Tea Drinking 


ippinct—* 
Candles 







ETIQUETTE OF THE HOME IN OLDEN TIMES. 

Aov tiip Are** of the olden times and the decorations of the 
The neighbor ^ interesting coJparison to those of the present day. 





















THE ETIQUETTE OF THE STREET, OR PUBLIC HIGHWAY. 

The gentleman should walk slightly to the rear, and whenever anyone is passed should allow the lady 
to precede him. Strict observance of all the rules of etiquette on the street, or in the 

home, mark the gentleman or lady. 



















BOOK V 



& 



HE HOME BOOK 
OF ETIQUETTE 


EMBRACING 


The General Principles and Rules of Good 
Manners, Dress, Personal Ornamentation and 
Deportment for all Occasions 


The *Art of Conversation, Consideration for the 
Feelings of Others, the Winning Manner, How 
to Avoid Incivilities, the Demeanor of the Lady 
and Gentleman. Apparel suited to various 
Occasions, Jewelry, What and When and How 
it should be Worn, Introductions, Salutations, 
Calls, Formal and Informal, and the Proprie¬ 
ties of the Same, Visiting, Entertaining, Host 
and Guest, and What is Expected of Each. 
Etiquette of the Street, Traveling, Driving 
Parties, Boating, Bicycling Parties, Etc. 


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Rules of Propriety for 

Balls, Evening Parties, 
Card Parties, Dances, 
Weddings, Churches, 
Theatres and Other 
Public Occasions; 
Breakfasts, Dinners, 
Teas, Chaperons, 
Funeral Etiquette, 
Mourning Costumes, Etc. 


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A COMPLETE COMPENDIUM OF 


THE WHAT, HOW, WHEN AND WHERE OF 

POLITE DEPORTMENT 

34; 






























THE HOME BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 

WHAT TO DO—WHAT TO WEAR—WHAT TO SAY—WHAT TO WRITE— 
THE CORRECT THING AT HOME—AT PARTIES—AT WEDDINGS 
—AT ALL PUBLIC AND PRIVATE FUNCTIONS 


GENERAL PRINCIPLES OF GOOD MANNERS 


Good manners stand next to a good 
heart in adapting men and women to the 
community in which they live. Indeed, so 
far as the opinion of ordinary society rules, 
they go further, for however gifted by 
nature or education one may be, or however 
well-intentioned and virtuous in conduct, if 
he is ignorant of the customs and require¬ 
ments of good society, is awkward or un¬ 
graceful in manner, careless in speech, and 
heedless of social demands, and even of the 
arbitrary dictates of fashion, he risks expos¬ 
ing himself to ridicule, and may be neglected 
or contemned, while men far below him in 
character and ability, but with superior 
knowledge of correct social deportment, 
may become the admired favorites of the 
world. In short, it may be said that success 
in life often depends far more on appearance 
and deportment than on innate character. 

According to Swift, good manners are 
the art of making those people with whom 
we converse feel at ease. This is doubtless 
true so far as conversation is concerned. 
Persons of generous impulses naturally seek 
to render themselves agreeable to those into 
whose company they come, and are no more 
eager to gain enjoyment for themselves than 
to bestow pleasure upon others. The art of 
pleasing is, in truth, a simple one, but fre¬ 
quently its cultivation is too much neglected. 
Many persons become so solicitous for the 
promotion of their own pleasure as to forget 
that their neighbors have claims upon them. 


Yet every man who enters society should 
bear in mind that, in a sense, he ceases to 
be an individual, and becomes part of an 
association, a social organism, as it has been 
called ; met together, not for any one’s per¬ 
sonal gratification, but for the pleasure of 
the whole company. 

The first requisite in our intercourse with 
the world, and the chief in giving pleasure 
to our associates, is sincerity of heart, a 
quality which lends the same ornament to 
character which modesty does to manners. 
A second important element of social be¬ 
havior is lack of self-assertion, a modesty 
of manner, native or acquired, which is in 
no sense inconsistent with firmness and dig¬ 
nity of character. The well-bred man feels 
at ease in all companies, is modest without 
appearing bashful, and self-possessed with¬ 
out an undue forwardness of manner. 

The Art of Conversation. 

To one who would make his way in the 
society of intelligent people, a well-selected 
fund of information and anecdote is a highly 
important prerequisite. An enlightened 
understanding and a store of interesting 
knowledge are essential to him who would 
shine in conversation. None can hope to 
make small talk go far with people of cul¬ 
ture, and all who wish to win credit in social 
circles will need something deeper and more 
enduring than chat on passing trifles and 
local events. 


343 



344 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


The faculty of communicating thought 
is, in a great measure, peculiar to man, and 
the pleasure which he derives from the in¬ 
terchange of ideas is one of his leading ele¬ 
ments of enjoyment. There is nothing more 
agreeable to most persons than pleasant, 
sprightly, fluent conversation, spiced with 
anecdote, and seasoned with the results of 
good reading, and we are all happily consti¬ 
tuted to take delight in the mutual inter¬ 
change of thoughts. 

The best rule of conversation undoubt¬ 
edly is, to “adapt yourself to your com¬ 
pany.” Thus commercial men enjoy con¬ 
versation on subjects having some relation 
to affairs of business; men of pleasure, 
whose thoughts are given only to entertain¬ 
ment, prefer light talk on pastimes or social 
events ; and professional men love to dwell 
on new books, the discoveries of scientists, 
the latest doings in the arts, and similar 
learned subjects. 

Attention to these suggestions will be of 
use in helping men of learning and men 
of pleasure alike to derive mutual advantage 
from their different qualifications, and we 
need but say further that those who wish to 
please should be well informed on subjects 
of most general interest, whether this interest 
be of temporary or permanent character. 
An accurate and extensive knowledge on 
learned subjects is far from being sufficient 
for conversational needs, and may lead to 
prosy and wearisome talk in the opinion of 
less erudite people ; one must also have a 
ready knowledge of the common occurrences 
of life, and of important events which are 
arising day after day, must know something 
of the fine art of chatting, and how to spice 
heavy subjects with anecdote and illustra¬ 
tion. The art of conversation is a difficult 
one to acquire, and fine couversers must be 
born with a native faculty in that direction. 

Avoid Heated Argument. 

Speech is so vital an element of social 
intercourse that too much attention cannot 
be given to its requisites, or too much study 
to its cultivation. 

In conversation it is of high importance 
to avoid heated argument. Difference of 
opinion is likely to arise very frequently, 
but one should always express his views 


calmly and gently, and avoid all eager or 
loud assertion. It is not so important that 
you should force your auditors to accept 
your special views. If your antagonist 
begins to grow warm, you should at once 
put an end to the argument by a quiet turn¬ 
ing of the conversation. Disputes severely 
try the temper of many men, and are likely 
to end in the mortification of one disputant, 
generally with no advantage to the victor. 
They should, therefore, be avoided. 

Yet no one is called upon, for the sake 
of avoiding argument, to give a general 
assent to all that is said in company. As¬ 
sent without conviction indicates a mean 
and subservient spirit, and may tend to con¬ 
firm others in wrong opinions. Yet it is 
wise to oppose calmly and correct with 
gentleness, and, while showing that you 
have a mind of your own, to show that you 
respect the opinions of your companions. 

Consider the Feelings of Others. 

Do not speak in a loud voice or assume 
a dictatorial tone, and if a statement is 
made which you know to be incorrect, be 
careful of the manner in which you correct 
the speaker. Suggest a correction, rather 
than make it; and if the matter is unim¬ 
portant it is far better to let it pass un¬ 
noticed. There is nothing more unwise 
than to insist on trifles. Those who go 
abroad to correct the world’s mistakes are 
apt to find themselves very frequently in 
hot water. If addressed in an offensive 
tone, it is the part of wisdom not to notice 
it; an intention even to insult or annoy can 
safely be passed over for the time being. 
One should consider the feelings of the 
other persons present, and not annoy them 
with personal affairs of a disagreeable 
character, nor permit others to force him 
into a quarrel in company. There is, of 
course, a limit of insult which a self-respect¬ 
ing man can not let pass ; but to bear and 
forbear is the part of good manners. Quar¬ 
rels can be left to bide their time, and there 
is no better way of repelling an inuendo 
than by ignoring it or treating it as un¬ 
worthy of notice. Such a thing as a 
“ scene ” in society is, above all things, to 
be avoided. It is the insulter who loses 
social caste, not the insulted. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


345 


Care in the Use of Witticisms. 

If you have wit, or fancy you have, 
which is oftener the case, it is well to use it 
with caution and judgment, and particularly 
to avoid seeking butts for your wit among 
your associates. Wit is a quality which 
all admire, yet which most fear, and which 
no one enjoys being made the victim of. 
If used in a satirical manner it is often malig¬ 
nant in character, and any man possessed of 
this cutting weapon may find much better 
occasioi s for its use than against the self- 
love or the foibles of his acquaintances. A 
wise man, indeed, will live as much within 
his wit as within his income, and it is far 
better to be content with good sense and 
reason, which can never hurt, than with 
this shining but cutting plaything of wit. 
However you may be admired for your 
sharpness of repartee, it is still true that 
respect and affection can be won only by 
good sense and amiable consideration of the 
feelings of others. 

There is a species of minor wit, that 
known as raillery, which is much used, and 
much abused. It is a dangerous and mis¬ 
chievous weapon in unskilful hands, and 
had better be left entirely alone. In truth, 
the injustice of a bad man is often more 
quickly forgiven than the insults of a witty 
one. The former injures us in property ; 
the latter hurts us in soul, mortifying that 
secret pride which we all possess. Raillery, 
indeed, is not always offensive ; it may even 
be used to flatter, as when we accuse one of 
faults which they are notoriously free from. 
But this sort of raillery needs a skilled hand 
to manage, and had better be left quite 
alone if it cannot be handled judiciously. 

All can be Agreeable. 

It is not given to every man to be a 
brilliant talker, or to express himself in 
writing with elegance or force. Both of 
these are gifts of the few, not possessions of 
the many. There is, however, no reason 
why any person who goes into society 
should be ignorant of the rules of polite in¬ 
tercourse, or fail to master all the customary 
forms of address. 

It is almost useless to repeat that your 
conversation should be adapted to your 
company, for that is a golden rule which 


one should know almost by intuition. In 
mixed groups one -should sedulously avoid 
all such mooted points as politics and reli¬ 
gion, and every topic likely to excite argu ¬ 
ment or lead to heated discussion. 

You cannot be too careful in avoiding, 
in mixed assemblages, subjects which may 
prove to point directly to some persons 
present. For instance, do not speak of the 
laxity of the divorce laws when Mr. M. or 
Mrs. N. may, unknown to you, have passed 
through the divorce court. And do not 
express yourself strongly against second 
marriages, when there may, perhaps, be one 
or two examples among your listeners. If 
a sudden silence, with perhaps a conscious 
look, follows your words, you had better 
change the subject as quickly as possible, 
and be glad that you have escaped from a 
hornets’ nest without a sting. 

Avoid Referring to Your Own Exploits. 

Talk of yourself and your own affairs as 
little as possible, and bear in mind that to 
drag into a general conversation the names of 
distinguished persons to whom you may be 
related, or who may be numbered among 
your friends, is more apt to excite contempt 
than to yield admiration. To speak of your 
own exploits, or give examples of your 
special prowess and sagacity, without re¬ 
quest of the company, is always in bad 
taste, and is more likely to gain you credit 
for self-conceit than for the qualities boasted 
of. Leave matters of this kind for people 
to find out and you will gain more credit. 

Above all, avoid any effort to monopo¬ 
lize the conversation. It is presumptuous 
and offensive in any person to imagine that 
his or her words alone are of interest, and 
impolite to rob others of the opportunity to 
speak. This is a common fault in fluent 
talkers, who are, besides, often so interested 
in what they wish to say as to be plainly 
inattentive to what others are saying. 

Personal allusions or flattering remarks 
are often in very bad taste. Words spoken 
in jest may be taken in earnest, and should be 
guarded against unless you are with intimate 
friends, who will not be likely to put a false 
construction on your words. If you intend 
a jest, you are wasting your effort if your 
point cannot be seen. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


o 



Funs and slang terms should, as a rule, 
be avoided. They at times fit in neatly, but 
a habit of indulging in them is a bad one. 
It must be remembered that there is a slang 
of the mansion as well as of the hovel, of 
the drawing-room as of the street. The 
technical terms of professions or trades have 
occasionally the effect of slang in general 
society, and simple, plain language should 
always be used in preference. It is not al¬ 
ways advisable to bring the phrases of the 
office or the factory into social circles. 

Express yourself simply and clearly. 
Avoid all attempts at elegance or pompos¬ 
ity. Use the easiest and plainest language 
you can, and stop speaking when you have 
said what you desired. “ Brevity is the 
soul of wit,” therefore “speak little, but 
speak well, if you would be thought a per¬ 
son of good sense.” 

Other Rules Worth Observing. 

Should a person enter the room in which 
you are conversing, and the conversation be 
continued after his arrival, it is only courte¬ 
ous to acquaint him with the nature of the 
subject to which it relates, and to give him 
an idea of what has passed. 

Be cautious in relating anecdotes. Un¬ 
less you can tell a story with ease and 
effect, it is better not to attempt it, and, 
above all, do not mimic the peculiarities, 
infirmities, or short-comings of others in 
general society. You may give offense to 
some one present who is a friend of the per¬ 
son caricatured, and in any case such a pro¬ 
ceeding is not commendable. 

Do not speak of what passes in a house 
that you are visiting. To do so may often 
give great offence. 

You need not tell all the truth unless to 
those who have a right to know it all. But 
let all you tell be the truth. 

Do not offer advice unless you know it 
will be followed, and carefully beware how 
you advise an angry or an opinionated person. 
As a rule, advice not asked is not welcomed. 

Be cautious as to asking questions. The 
reply may be very embarrassing to the per¬ 
son of whom the question is asked. 

Do not volunteer information, especially 
in public ; but be very sure you are correct 
in what you state as facts. 


Do not sit dumb in company, but bear 
your share in the general conversation. Do 
this with modesty and self-possession, neither 
thrusting yourself forward, nor hesitating 
where you should speak. It is better to be 
a good listener than a good talker, yet it is 
a duty to take your part in entertaining. . 

It is not necessary to express your opin¬ 
ions upon all subjects ; but if you give 
utterance to them, do so fearlessly, frankly, 
and with courteous regard for the opinions 
of others. The greater your learning, the 
more modest should be your manner of 
expressing it. 

A Winning Manner. 

Another important element of social de¬ 
portment is a graceful and easy bearing, and 
that softness and amiability of manner which 
is so engaging in our intercourse wfith the 
world. Such a manner is more easily felt 
than described. It is a compound of several 
elements of character and conduct; not a 
servility of demeanor, but an affability and 
courtesy in speech and expression ; and this, 
whether or not you agree with the person or 
persons with whom you are conversing. 

This should be particularly considered 
when we are obliged to refuse a favor asked 
of us, or to say what cannot be very agree¬ 
able to the person to whom we say it. If 
we have a bitter pill to administer, we should 
at least seek to sweeten it with courtesy and 
kindness. Yet this softness of manner will 
sink into a mean and timid complaisance, 
or insincere affectation, if not supported 
by firmness and dignity of character; and 
one should, while cultivating courtesy, be 
careful to avoid insincerity or fear of truth¬ 
ful expression. To be winning at the _ 
expense of truth and honesty is to convert a 
virtue into a fault. 

Genuine easy manners result from a con¬ 
stant attention to the relation of persons and 
things, times and places. When we con¬ 
verse with one much superior to us in 
station or in the world’s appreciation, we 
should seek to be as easy and unembarressed 
as with our equals, avoiding sedulously any 
show of servility or flattery, yet indicating 
in word, look and action, the greatest 
respect. In the society of our equals greater 
ease and liberty are allowable; but they, too, 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


347 


have their proper limitations. There is 
a social respect in every case necessary, and 
though our language may have a greater 
degree of latitude among friends and equals, 
its freedom should never be unbounded. It 
is always safer to say too little than too much. 

An engagingease of carriage and behavior 
widely differs from negligence and inatten¬ 
tion, and by no means implies that one is 
justified in consulting only his own pleasure 
in society ; it only means that he should not 
be formal or embarrassed, disconcerted or 
diffident. It need only be said that the 
thing it is correct to do should be done with 
ease and ability ; the improper thing should 
not be done at all. 

In mixed companies different ages and 
sexes should be differently addressed. Al¬ 
though it is our duty to be respectful to all; 
old age particularly requires to be treated 
with a degree of deference and regard. It 
is a good general rule to accustom ourselves 
to have a kindly feeling towards every thing 
connected with our fellows, and when this 
is the case, we shall seldom err in the appli¬ 
cation. The inward feeling will appear in 
the outward conduct. 

Principles of Politeness. 

Another important point in decorum is, 
not to force upon others our own present 
humor or passing sentiment, but to observe 
and adopt theirs. If for the moment we are 
impressed with some strong feeling or in a 
humor out of tone with that of the com¬ 
pany, we should either restrain ourselves, 
keep silent, or confine our conversation to 
those who are most likely to be in sympathy 
with our frame of mind. Peremptoriness 
and conceit, especially in young people, is 
contrary to good breeding: they should 
seldom seem to dissent, and always use 
some softening mitigating expression. 

There is a decorum also with regard to 
people of the lowest degree ; a gentleman 
observes it with his coachman, and even 
indeed with the beggar in the street. He 
considers them as objects of compassion, not 
of insult; he speaks to neither in a harsh 
tone, but corrects the one gently, and re¬ 
fuses the other with humanity. 

Politeness is one of those social virtues 
which we never estimate rightly but from 


the inconvenience of its loss. Though per¬ 
haps not distinctly perceived when present, 
its absence is strongly indicated. The dif¬ 
ference between a polite person and one who 
is impolite is very marked, yet those who do 
not possess good breeding rarely understand 
its importance and worth. But as sickness 
shows us the value of health, so a little 
familiarity with those who do not trouble 
themselves to contribute to the gratification 
of others, but regulate their behavior merely 
by their own will, will soon make evident the 
necessity of established modes and formali¬ 
ties to the happiness and quiet of common 
life. 

Wisdom and virtue are by no means suf¬ 
ficient, without the supplemental laws of 
good breeding, to secure freedom of manners 
from degenerating into rudeness, or prevent 
self-esteem from developing into insolence. 
Incivility and neglect of proper social ob¬ 
servances do not necessarily yield remorse 
of conscience or reproach from reason in 
those who have not been taught to consider 
the feelings of others as well as their own. 
Yet genuine politeness always gives ease 
and pleasure, while its opposite is likely to 
impart pain or disgust. The power' of 
pleasing must in great part be conferred by 
nature, though in a considerable measure it 
may be cultivated. But though it be the 
privilege of the few to charm and shine in 
society, yet all may hope, by the cultivation 
of good breeding and polite manners, to 
make themselves agreeable to their asso¬ 
ciates, though they should have no claim to 
higher distinction. 

The axiom from which flows all the for¬ 
malities of cultivated society is: “Let no 
man give preference to himself.” This is a 
comprehensive rule, and it is difficult to 
imagine an incivility unless it is in some 
measure broken. 

Good Breeding. 

Yet there are everywhere particular cere¬ 
monial requisites of good breeding, often of 
local application, which, being arbitrary or 
accidental, can be learned only by residence 
and observation. Among these are forms of 
salutation, gradations of reverence, and 
various rules of place and precedence. Yet 
these may be violated without giving offence 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


34 s 

by one who is evidently a stranger to them, 
and when it is apparent that neither malice 
nor pride had a share in their non-observ¬ 
ance. And however rigidly these and other 
rules of behavior be observed, they can 
never condone insolence or selfishness. 
True courtesy is that which flows from the 
heart, not that which is worn only on the 
surface. 

Real good breeding is not always to be 
found among those who spend their time in 
visiting, in frequenting public entertain¬ 
ments, in studying ceremonial rules, and in 
keeping in pace with the changes of fash¬ 
ionable regulations. Such people may know 
what fashion demands in acts of deportment 
and ceremony, but they too often confine 
themselves to the exterior and unessential 
elements of civility, and are much too apt to 
consider their own gratification as of more 
value than the pleasure of others. 

The most certain way to give any man 
pleasure is to persuade him that you receive 
pleasure from him, to encourage him to 
freedom and confidence, and to avoid any 
such appearance of superiority as ma}^ over¬ 
bear and depress him. We see many who, 
by this art alone, spend their days in the 
midst of caresses, invitations, and civilities ; 
and, without any extraordinary qualities or 
attainments, are the universal favorites of 
both sexes. 

In assemblies and places of public resort 
it is frequently observed that at the entrance 
of some particular person every face bright¬ 
ens with gladness, and every hand is ex¬ 
tended in salutation. Yet, often, if you 
follow this favorite beyond the first exchange 
of civilities, you will find him of only 
ordinary abilities, and welcome to the com¬ 
pany simply as one by whom all conceive 
themselves to be admired, and with whom 
any one is at liberty to amuse himself when 
he can find no other auditor or companion. 
He can place all at ease if he will hear a 
jest without criticism, and a narrative with¬ 
out contradiction, laugh at every wit, and 
yield to every disputer. 

All are at some hour or another fond of 
companions whom they can entertain upon 
easy terms, and who will relieve them from 
solitude, without requiring them to guard 
their speech with vigilance and caution. 


We are most inclined to love when we have 
nothing to fear, and he that encourages us 
to please ourselves, will not be long without 
preference in our affection to those whose 
learning holds us at a distance, or whose wit 
calls all attention from us, and leaves us 
without importance and without regard. All. 
men dislike to be placed in such unpleasant 
contrast, even though they cannot but 
admire the abilities which they are incapable 
of rivalling or even unable to imitate. 

The Demeanor of a Lady. 

An agreeable, modest, and dignified 
bearing is not only one of the most desir¬ 
able requisites of a young woman, but her 
best warrant to claim the title of lady. 
Whatever may be the transient demand of 
fashion, whatever the passing rule of custom, 
that which is amiable, graceful and true in 
taste will always please the majority of man¬ 
kind. A young lady, if she have any true 
claim to the title, should not require to have 
allowances made for her. If properly 
trained, and blessed with a just conception 
of social requisites, her address will be 
gentle and polite, her manner courteous, and 
she will need but an opportunity for observ¬ 
ation to gain those minor graces and habits 
which the local customs of society may 
demand. The general rules of social ob¬ 
servance are world-wide in their application, 
and familiarity with them flows almost 
inevitably from good sense and a good dis¬ 
position. 

On being introduced to a stranger, there 
is no insincerity in the display of a degree 
of pleasure. The well-trained girl will 
acknowledge the introduction to an elder 
person with a respectful bow and a deferen¬ 
tial manner. To one of her own age she 
will strive to make herself agreeable even 
if not particularly attracted towards the per¬ 
son introduced. It is the excess of impolite¬ 
ness to let it be seen that she does not care 
for her new acquaintance, to look over her 
dress at once, as if taking an inventory of it, 
to wear a supercilious manner, or to appear 
hurried, as if anxious to get away at the 
first break in the conversation. Politeness 
demands that she should show a degree of 
pleasure in the introduction, and courtesy, 



SPECIAL DECORATIONS 

The table is prepared for a special occasion and profusely decorated with flags—potted plants and vines. This answers for 
all Patriotic occasions. At the right is a beautiful window box and hanging basket 



TABLE DECORATIONS 

A haDov suggestion for the arrangement and decoration of a dinner-table for a special occasion, such as a wedding dinner 
wy fee The con trast of light draperies on the walls and the green of the plants is very effective. 






















PATRIOTIC DECORATIONS 

Decorations used to instil patriotism are the most commendable of the many public occasions - 
Children’s Days, Commencements and National holidays are the most popular. Flags 
and bunting, banks of daisies, a “Ship of State” and floral columns are seen in 

this illustration. 







DECORATIONS FOR A WEDDING 

This is an interesting view of elaborate designs in arches and festoons. The green and white in the 
arches and in the pulpit decorations are easily procured and arranged. 




















BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


349 


that she should avoid any action likely to 
give pain or offence. 

Incivilities to be Avoided. 

Such suggestions are hardly necessary. 
The instinct of a true lady will teach her to 
observe these basic rules of courtesy. Yet 
there is a heedlessness in many of the young, 
and an unacknowledged selfishness, which 
often lead to incivilities of which they are 
themselves unaware. 

In conversation volubility is to be 
avoided. The words should be gently 
spoken, and the voice loud enough to be 
heard easily, but still with a degree of 
repression, an undertone below the full 
powers of the voice. Affectation especially 
should be avoided. It was once in fashion, 
but was always strained and unnatural, and, 
fortunately, has long ceased to be the mode. 
Like many peculiarities of bygone times, 
one meets with it now only in vulgar society. 
The well-bred sedulously avoid affected 
tricks of speech. 

The manner of using the eyes also calls 
for regulation. The open stare and the 
shy withdrawal of the eyes are alike to be 
avoided. They should be raised quietly 
and with interest to those of the speaker, 
and only withdrawn when his remarks are 
concluded. This, of course, is not neces¬ 
sary if he is speaking to a number, but even 
then the eyes should not indicate inatten¬ 
tion, and should be more or less steadily 
fixed on the speaker’s face. 

There is, in addition, a certain dignity 
of demeanor necessary to make even the 
most superior persons respected. This dig¬ 
nity cannot readily be taught; it can hardly 
be assumed ; it must flow in great measure 
from intrinsic qualities, though even the 
finest natural powers may lose their in¬ 
fluence through carelessness, and may be 
enhanced by attention and training. This 
dignity is distinct from pretension, which 
yields disgust rather than respect. A true 
lady will be equal to every occasion, and at 
home in all grades of society. Her polite¬ 
ness, her equanimity, her presence of mind, 
should be in evidence alike in the court and 
in the cottage. 

Private vexations should never be al¬ 
lowed to affect a lady’s manners, either at 


home or elsewhere. If not in condition for 
society, she should refrain from entering it, 
remembering that every one is expected and 
should hold herself bound to add something 
to the general sum of enjoyment. The self- 
control required in good society is often 
beneficial alike to the temper and the 
spirits. 

Many a plain woman has won and kept 
the affection of others merely by being al¬ 
ways gentle and womanly in manner. To 
gain an empire over the affections there 
must be somewhat of sentiment or sym¬ 
pathy in the nature of a woman. The loud, 
boastful, positive young lady will never be 
remembered with a soft interest, unless there 
be, perchance, some gentle strain in her that 
redeems her from her assumed hardness. 

Flirtation. 

With regard to flirtation, it is difficult to 
draw a limit where the predilection of the 
moment softens into a more tender and 
serious feeling, and flirtation sobers into an 
earnest form of devoted attention. 

We all dread for our daughters hasty 
and questionable attachments ; but it must 
not be supposed that long-practiced flirta¬ 
tions are without their evil effects on the 
character and manners. They excite and 
amuse, but they also exhaust the spirit. 
They expose women to censure and mis¬ 
construction, and tend to destroy the charm 
of manners and the simplicity of the heart. 
The coquette should remember that, with 
every successive flirtation, one charm after 
another disappears, like the petals from a 
fading rose, until all the deliciousness of a 
fresh and pure character is lost. On all 
these points a woman should take a high 
tone in the beginning of her life. She will 
learn, as time goes on, how far she may 
consistently lower it into an easier and 
more familiar tone of social intercourse. 

The bearing of married women should 
so far differ from that of the unmarried that 
there should be greater quietness and dig¬ 
nity ; a more close adherence to forms; 
and an abandonment of the admiration 
which has been received before marriage. 
All flirtation, however it may be counte¬ 
nanced by the existing custom of society, 
should be decisively put aside. There is, 


35° 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


however, no reason that conversation should 
be less lively, or society less agreeable. 

If a young married woman wishes to be 
respected, and therefore happy in life, there 
should be a quiet propriety of manner, a 
dignity towards the male sex, which cannot 
be mistaken in her for prudery, since it is 
consistent with her position and her ties. 
She should change her tone, if that has been 
unrefined ; she should not put herself on a 
level with young unmarried women of her 
own age, but should influence and even lead 
her youthful acquaintance into that style of 
behavior which is much esteemed by men of 
good taste. 

Demeanor of a Gentleman. 

One must be a gentleman before he can 
act the gentleman. To put on a semblance 
of what we do not possess is simply to ex¬ 
pose ourselves to the world, which will not 
be slow in discovering the false show, and 
ridiculing or despising the hypocrisy. May 
good breeding be acquired as an art ? Yes, 
in a measure, so far as dress, ceremonial de¬ 
portment, and outward display of gentility 
go. One may ape the gentleman, even 
while not being the gentleman. Yet there 
is a something beyond this, visible in every 
word and tone, which makes the true gen¬ 
tleman, and to gain which one must train 
his heart as well as his manners. 

in the well-chosen words of Ruskm : 
“A gentleman’s first characteristic is that 
fineness of structure in the body which ren¬ 
ders it capable of the most delicate sensa¬ 
tion, and of that structure in the mind which 
renders it capable of the most delicate sym¬ 
pathies—one may say, simply, ‘ fineness of 
nature.’ This is, of course, compatible 
with heroic bodily strength and mental 
firmness; in fact, heroic strength is not 
conceivable without such delicacy. Ele¬ 
phantine strength may drive its way through 
a foresc, and feel no touch of the boughs ; 
but the white skin of Homer’s Atrides 
would have felt a bent rose-leaf, yet subdue 
its fee.ings in glow of battle, and behave 
itself like iron. I do not mean to call an 
elephant a vulgar animal; but if you think 
about him carefully, you will find that his 
non-vulgarity consists in such gentleness as 
is possible to elephantine nature ; not in his 


insensitive hide, nor in his clumsy foot, but 
in the way he will lift his foot if a child lies 
in his path ; and in his sensitive trunk, and 
still more sensitive mind, and capability of 
pique on points of honor. Hence it will 
follow, that one of the probable signs of 
high breeding in men generally will be their 
kindness and mercifulness; these always 
indicating more or less firmness of make in 
the mind.” 

What Constitutes Gentlemanly Manners. 

The manners of a gentleman are the 
index of his soul. His speech is innocent, 
because it springs from a pure spirit. His 
thoughts are direct, because they are the ex¬ 
ponents of upright actions. His bearing is 
gentle because it arises from gentle impulses 
and kindliness of heart. Pretentious man¬ 
ners are alien to the nature of the true gen¬ 
tleman. He avoids instead of exacting 
homage. Ceremonies do not attract him. 
He is as ready to do kindly acts as to say 
civil things. He regulates his hospitality 
by his means, but graces it with heartiness 
and sincerity of welcome. He chooses his 
friends for qualities akin to his own, his 
servants for truthfulness and honesty, his 
occupations for their elevating tendency or 
their power of giving aid or enjoyment to 
others. In a word, a good heart is at the 
bottom of all his acts, and a kindly spirit 
is the fountain from which all his thoughts 
arise. In this consideration it will not 
be amiss to quote from Ward McAllister the 
following apposite passage : ‘ ‘ The value of 
a pleasant manner it is impossible to 
estimate. It is like sunshine, it gladdens ; 
you feel it, and are at once attracted to the 
person without knowing why. When you 
entertain, do it in an easy, natural way, as if 
it was an every-day occurrence, not the event 
of your life ; but do it well. Eearn how to 
do it ; never be ashamed to learn. The 
American people haVe a greater power of 
‘ catching hold ’ and adapting themselves to 
new surroundings than any other people in 
the w r orld. 

“ If women should cultivate pleasant 
manners, should not men do the same? 
Are not manners as important to men as to 
women ? The word ‘ gentleman ’ may have 
its derivation from gentle descent, but my 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


35 1 


understanding of a gentleman lias always 
been that he is a person free from arrogance 
and anything like self-assertion ; consider¬ 
ate of the feelings of others ; so satisfied 
and secure in his own position that he is 
always unpretentious, feeling he could not 
do an ungentlemanly act; as courteous and 
kind in manner to his inferiors as to his 
equals. The best-bred men I have ever met 
have always been the least pretentious. 
Natural and simple in manner, modest in 
apparel, never wearing anything voyant or 
conspicuous ; but always so well dressed 
that you could never discover what made 
them so,—the good, quiet taste of the whole 
producing the result. 

“ Here all men are more or less in busi¬ 
ness. We hardly have a class who are not. 
They are, of necessity, daily brought into 
contact with all sorts and conditions of men, 
and in self-defense oftentimes have to acquire 
an abrupt, a brusque manner of address, 
which, as a rule, they generally leave in 
their offices when they quit them. If they 
do not, they certainly should. When such 
rough manners become by practice a second 
nature, they unfit one to go into society. 
It pays w T ell for young and old to cultivate 
politeness and courtesy. Nothing is gained 
by trying roughly to elbow yourself into 
society, and push your way through into the 
inner circle ; for when such a one has 
reached it, he will find the atmosphere un¬ 
congenial, and be only too glad to escape 
from it.” 

The Demands of Etiquette. 

Etiquette makes many demands upon a 
man, demands which cannot safely be set 
aside, if he wishes to preserve the high title 
of gentleman. It is his duty to answer let¬ 
ters, notes, and invitations without delay. 
He must dress neatly ; there is no need that 
he should dress lavishly. To dress well is 
to dress appropriately. He must be defer¬ 
ential to the old and courteous to the young, 
and yield place and precedence to women— 
the older in preference. 

If he be afflicted with physical or mental 
ailments, let him bear them as philosophi¬ 
cally as possible, and, at all events, avoid 
speaking of them in company. If he be 
placed under obligation, he should not let it 


remain any longer than he can help—if it be 
of a kind lhat can be returned. 

It is not the large, but the little, things 
that often test and try a man’s character and 
disposition. These make up the bulk of 
existence. We are rarely called upon to 
act the hero ; we are daily required to act 
the gentleman. 

“ Among these trifles light as air,” says 
a recent writer on etiquette, ‘ ‘ is the ever- 
recurrent and not a little vexing question of 
the payment of fares in a car or omnibus by 
an acquaintance, and the adjustment of such 
matters.” 

In the opinion of this writer, there is 
only one rule about paying a lady’s fare 
under such circumstances, and that is, 
“ Don’t offer to do it,” unless called upon 
to do so through trouble on her part in 
making change or other exigency. 

Women do not altogether like to be put 
under an obligation of this kind ; some do 
not like it at all, feeling that it is not easy 
to repay. If she seeks to return the sum, 
it should be accepted without hesitation. 
There is no honor gained by attempting to 
appear magnanimous about a trifle. 

Etiquette of Travel. 

As regards offering a seat in a street car, 
that is a matter which should be governed 
by circumstances. There is no call for an 
oldish or tired man to give up his seat to a 
young woman, who is evidently better able 
to stand than himself. For a young man 
to give up his seat is a different matter, but 
in doing so preference should not be given 
to youth and beauty, as is too often the 
rule. True courtesy demands that the seat 
should be offered to the woman evidently 
least able to stand, no matter whether she 
be well or ill dressed, handsome or the op¬ 
posite, rich or poor. 

These instances are offered simply as 
examples of those small occasions for con¬ 
sideration and courteous demeanor which 
are of daily occurrence, and which are apt 
to be truer tests of character than many of 
the greater exigencies of life. There is a 
streak of selfishness, or, at the least, of self- 
indulgence, in us all to whose counsel it is 
dangerous to listen, if we desire to wear at 
least the outer aspect of a gentleman. The 


352 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


man who is a gentleman by nature needs no 
suggestions on these small points ; instinct 
will tell him how to act. Yet in all cases 
some training in the customs and observ¬ 
ances of good society is of utility. The 


readiness to do the right thing is not all 
there is to consider. A knowledge of what 
is the right thing to do in the daily exigen¬ 
cies of life is of equal importance to all. 


II. THE ART OF DRESS 


The fashion of attire is a question of the 
passing day ; its aesthetics is a question of 
I the ages. Persons of taste will avoid the 
ridiculous, whatever may be the demands of 
fashion, yet will not vary so far from the 
prevailing custom in dress as to expose 
themselves to ridicule from singularity. 

Dress has in it some of the essentials of 
the fine arts, and to be well dressed requires 
other requisites than the possession of wealth 
and a good figure. Good taste and refine¬ 
ment stand first; all other essentials come 
second. To dress well, the qualities of 
color, harmony, and contrast need to be 
observed, and a trained and artistic eye is 
as essential as a sensible and well-balanced 
mind. Dress, to be in good taste, by no 
means needs to be costly. Fit, proportion, 
and harmony in shade and color are the ob¬ 
jects to be observed, and while there should 
be a reasonable consideration of the dictates 
of fashion, no person of sense will follow 
fashion blindly, to the neglect of the essen¬ 
tials of adaptation to figure, face, and occu¬ 
pation. 

A Well=Dressed Woman. 

Some one says that “ as a work of art a 
well-dressed woman is a study.” The toil¬ 
ette of such a person is always well-chosen, 
with consideration of its purpose, and is 
always adapted to the situation, whether it 
be breakfast-room or ball-room, promenade 
or reception. If she loves bright colors, and 
they agree with her complexion, they will 
be as harmoniously arranged as the tints of 
an artist. If subdued colors are demanded, 
she will not let any desire for display lead 
her into the use of garish tints. If she is 
young, her dress will be youthful ; if she is 
old, it will avoid showiness. She will 
always rather follow than lead the prevailing 
fashion, and in no event will permit the 
costume of the day to lead her into violation 
of good taste and common sense. 


The golden rule in dress is to avoid 
extremes. To affect peculiarities of costume 
shows a lack of good taste, while it is not 
less unwise to follow fashions which are 
unbecoming to the special person. Eadies 
who are neither very young nor very attrac¬ 
tive in appearance will do best to wear 
quiet colors and simple styles ; while those 
who are not rich can always appear taste¬ 
fully dressed, if they exercise care in the 
choice, and display skill and judgment in 
the arrangement of materials. A dress¬ 
maker of good taste is an essential to good 
dressing. The dressmaker is a woman’s 
good or evil genius, and may do much to 
make or mar her position in social circles. 

Dress for Various Occasions. 

Morning dress should be faultless in its 
way. For young ladies, whether married 
or single, there is no prettier summer morn¬ 
ing wear than white or very light dresses of 
washing materials. Yet those must be always 
fresh and clean, and the collars and cuffs irre¬ 
proachable. For morning wear simplicity in 
attire is imperative. Silk should not be worn. 
Cotton and woolen are the proper materials. 

The walking-dress should be quiet. A 
rich or showy dress in the street is apt to 
attract more attention than is desirable or 
always agreeable. For the carriage, how¬ 
ever, a lady may dress as elegantly as she 
wishes. 

Elderly ladies should dress as richly as 
their means permit. A thin old lady may 
wear delicate colors, while one of stout 
person or florid complexion will look best 
in black or dark grey. But for young 
and old alike the complexion and figure 
have much to do with determining the suit¬ 
able colors. Rich colors harmonize well 
with brunette complexions, but for blondes 
and those of delicate tints of face the desir¬ 
able colors to be worn are those of more 
delicate hue. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


353 


At dinner parties, unless they be small 
and familiar in kind, only the fullest dress 
is appropriate. But at unceremonious din¬ 
ners demi-toilette can be worn, and high 
dresses if the material be sufficiently rich. 
Real flowers may be worn at dinner parties, 
but it is better to wear artificial ones at balls, 
since the heat and dancing are apt to cause 
real flowers to droop and shed their petals. 

Gloves, shoes, and boots must always be 
faultless. Gloves cannot be too light for the 
carriage, or too dark for the streets. A 
woman with ill-fitting gloves lacks one of the 
essentials of suitable dress. It may be 
remarked, by the way, that perfumes should 
be used only in the evening, and with the 
strictest moderation, and that perfumes to 
be tolerable must be of the most delicate 
kind. 

There has never been a more telling and 
sensible criticism than that made by Dr. 
Johnson on a lady’s dress. “ I am sure she 
was well dressed,” he said, “for I cannot 
remember what she had on.” 

Suitability of Apparel. 

Suit your dresses to the occasions upon 
which they are to be used. In the morning, 
at home, a lady may wear a loose, flowing 
dress, made high in the neck, with a belt at 
the waist, and with loose sleeves fastened at 
the wrist. On the street a walking-costume 
should be worn, and the dress should clear 
the ground. There is nothing more disgust¬ 
ing than to see a rich dress sweeping up the 
dirt and filth of the street. 

Fashion seems to decree this at the 
present time, with the ungraceful result of 
seeing nine women out of ten awkwardly 
holding up their skirts. The tenth sensibly 
ignores fashion in favor of comfort. 

The shoes for the street should be high, 
warm, and easy to the feet, with a low, 
broad heel, and should be always neatly 
blackened. For ordinary street wear a lady 
may use either a hat or a bonnet. This is 
a matter of taste. In the dress of ladies 
great latitude is allowed ; but the aim of all 
who aspire to be well dressed should be sim¬ 
plicity and taste, the character of the occasion 
being always carefully considered. Latitude 
or great variety in dress is no longer thought 
original, and startling innovations are dan- 
23 H L 


gerous experiments. With artistic taste 
they may prove a success, but are much 
more likely to be a failure. 

It is important that a lady should 
always dress neatly at home. She is then 
ready to receive a morning caller without 
having to change her dress. She should 
change her dress for the evening. Some 
neat and dainty costume should be worn, 
according to her taste, for it is in the even¬ 
ing that she is thrown most with the male 
members of her family, and is most likely 
to have visitors. In making evening calls 
upon her friends, a lady should wear a hood, 
or some light head-wrap easily laid aside. 
A bonnet should always be removed at the 
commencement of such a visit. 

Public Occasions. 

The fashion of the time must govern the 
evening dress for public occasions. Full 
dress must always be worn, but it is impos¬ 
sible to give any fixed rule regarding it, in 
view of the frequent changes in the demands 
of fashion. A competent dressmaker, or 
the fashion publications of the time, will give 
the necessary information. In Europe, the 
evening dress requires the exposure of the 
arms and neck ; but in this country the 
more sensible plan of covering these parts 
of the body is widely the fashion, and 
should be observed except on very special 
occasions. 

The dress for balls and soirees should be 
of the richest within the lady’s means. Yet 
a certain degree of repression is important, 
if one would avoid seeming overdressed. 
White kid gloves and white satin or kid 
boots are most suitable to a ball dress. If 
the overdress is of black lace, black satin 
shoes are worn. Hints and directions, how¬ 
ever, are of little need to ladies for occasions 
of this kind. Example and experience, 
either of themselves or their friends, will 
prevent them from going far wrong. 

The richest full dress should be worn at 
the opera. The head should be bare, and 
dressed in the most becoming style. Jewelry 
may be worn, according to taste, as there is 
no place where it shows to better advantage. 
A light or brilliant colored opera cloak will 
add greatly to the lady’s appearance and 
comfort. Gloves of white, or delicately 






354 


book: of etiquette 


tinted, kid only are to be worn. The ordi¬ 
nary walking-dress, however, is suitable for 
other places of amusement. A rich and 
elegant shawl may be worn, as it can be 
thrown off when uncomfortable. The sensi- 
ble fashion is now making its way to remove 
the hat at theatres and lectures, out of due 
regard for those whose view of the stage 
may be obstructed. This being the case, 
there is no need to spoil the hair by wearing 
hat or bonnet on the way thither. 

Plain and simple dress should be worn 
for church, with very little jewelry. The 
costume should be of quiet colors. It is a 
mark of bad taste for ladies to attend church 
elaborately or conspicuously dressed. It 
shows a disregard for the solemnity of the 
sanctuary, and is calculated to draw off the 
attentions of others from the duties of the 
place. 

Jewelry. 

Much display of jewelry is out of place 
for young ladies, and the kind of jewelry to 
be worn demands as careful consideration 
as that of the dress itself. Diamonds, pearls, 
and transparent precious stones generally 
belong to evening costume, and are always 
in taste at night; but they should not be 
worn in the earlier parts of the day. In 
the morning, indeed, only a simple ring or 
two are admissible, with, perhaps, a gold 
brooch, and a watch and chain. 

As regards cost of jewelry, it is by no 
means the best criterion of taste. A simple 
and inexpensive jewel may occasionally 
have the effect of an exquisite work of art, 
while a large and showy brilliant may give 
the impression of vulgar display or showy 
overdress. To wear much jewelry in the 
streets is in very bad taste, while in large 
cities it may subject the wearer to danger 
from robbery. 

In traveling it is inadvisable to make a 
display of jewelry. It is particularly unde¬ 
sirable if a lady is traveling alone, for the 
reason just given. 

Traveling Dress. 

Traveling costume should be simple in 
style and quiet in color, materials that will 
not show dirt being preferable. A water¬ 
proof cloak is a very desirable addition, as 


it may be at any time suddenly needed. In 
summer travel a long linen duster, belted at 
the waist, should be worn over the dress. 

For the country or sea-side, simple and 
inexpensive dresses should be provided for 
ordinary wear. The bonnet should give 
place to a hat with a brim sufficiently wide 
to shield the face and neck from the sun. 

Bathing dresses should be made of blue 
or gray flannel. The skirt should come 
down to the ankles, and the sleeves should 
be long. An oil silk or India-rubber cap, 
fitting tightly around the head, will protect 
the hair from the salt water. 

It is impossible to prescribe an exact 
style or mode of dress for ladies in all places 
and on all occasions. Fashion will change, 
and, it must be confessed, in the matter of 
female costume, its changes have often been 
for the better. 

In regard to “overdressing,” it is not 
easy to draw a line, customs in different 
localities varying so much that what is per¬ 
missible in one place might be utterly out of 
place in another. The usual thing for win¬ 
ter dress is a stuff dress—a “ cloth suit,” it 
is usually called—worn with a fancy bodice. 
For elderly women, with money enough to 
afford it, costumes of silk, with elaborate 
trimming, are often worn. With toilettes 
of this kind the custom of wearing lace is 
on the increase ; but these are matters which 
the dressmaker is most competent to decide 
upon at any fixed period. As a general 
rule, however, loud colors should be avoided, 
and it is best never to risk extremes of cos¬ 
tume, whether in or out of the line of fash¬ 
ion, if one wishes to escape the verdict of 
vulgarity. 

A Well=Dressed Man. 

Buffon has remarked that a man’s 
clothes are a part of himself, and enter into 
our conception of his character. And cer¬ 
tainly no man who is experienced in the 
ways of the world and has any regard for 
social opinion can consider the question of 
dress as unimportant. We may excuse a 
man who dresses very negligently, but we 
rarely hold him in any high regard. Our 
conception of the interior qualities of a per¬ 
son is influenced, more than we are ordi¬ 
narily aware, by his exterior appearance. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


Walpole truly says: “We must speak to 
the eyes, if we wish to affect the mind.” 

In paying a visit, or in mingling in good 
society, it is complimentary to our hosts to 
be well dressed, and shows disregard of 
their wishes to be slovenly in attire. Even 
in a casual meeting, or in cases where the 
costume is likely to be of minor considera¬ 
tion, neat and careful dressing is very likely 
to be of advantage. A negligent attire in¬ 
dicates that a man is heedless of the opin¬ 
ions of others, and indifferent to their good 
will or respect. 

A careful and neat attire, on the con¬ 
trary, indicates a man who has a regard for 
himself and for the sentiments of others, one 
who finds pleasure in social intercourse, and 
loves to mingle in the society of his fellows. 
It is a kind of general offer of acquaintance, 
and proves a willingness to be accosted. 
Dress is the livery of good society, and he 
who would advance in the profession of 
pleasing must pay due regard to his outward 
aspect. 

Dress is also significant of inner feeling, 
and expresses qualities of mind which are 
likely to affect the outward conduct. That 
courtier was not far astray who dated the 
beginning of the French Revolution from 
the day when a nobleman appeared at Ver¬ 
sailles without buckles on his'shoes. 

Fashion is called a despot; but if men 
are willing to be its slaves, we cannot, and 
ought not, to upbraid fashion. In truth, 
the man who rebels against fashion is often 
more open to the imputation of vanity than 
he who obeys it, because he makes himself 
conspicuous, and practically announces that 
he is wiser than his kind. Affectation is 
always the essence of vulgarity. Between 
the two it is left to the man of sense and 
modesty to follow fashion only so far as not 
to make himself peculiar by opposing it, and 
in whatever he does or whatever he wears to 
let good taste, common sense, and a proper 
regard for the opinion of his fellows be the 
guides of his conduct 

A prime requisite in dress is its sim¬ 
plicity, with which may be coupled harmony 
of color. This simplicity is the only dis¬ 
tinction which a man of taste should aspire 
to in the matter of dress, for simplicity in 
appearance must proceed from a nicety in 


355 

reality. One should not be simply ill- 
dressed, but simply well-dressed. 

All extravagance, all over display, and 
all profusion must be avoided. The colors, 
in the first place, must harmonize both with 
our complexion and with one another ; per¬ 
haps most of all with the color of our hair. 
All bright colors should be avoided, even in 
gloves and neck-ties. The deeper colors 
are, somehow or other, more manly, and 
are certainly less striking. The same sim¬ 
plicity should be studied in the avoidance of 
ornamentation. 

Appropriate Costume. 

You should dress according to your 
occupation and means. If you are a sales¬ 
man, you would not think it appropriate to 
appear in the regulation garb of a bishop. 
Good sense and good taste form the first 
rule, and about the only one to be consid¬ 
ered. 

In the shifting climate of our country, 
gentlemen of late years have very sensibly 
adopted the mode of dressing especially for 
comfort. They have to brave all kinds of 
weather, sometimes wade through mud and 
slush, sometimes face a summer shower or 
cyclone, and they find it more essential to 
be protected against these climatic changes 
than to appear in elegant costume. 

Their dress does not undergo so many 
modifications as that of ladies, and it is 
comparatively easy for them to wear ap¬ 
parel that will be simple and serviceable, 
and at the same time in good taste. 

There is much less to be said about the 
dress of men than of women, as it is not 
subject to such extreme changes or suscep¬ 
tible of such great diversity in color, cut, 
and material. For the day the business 
suit is the usual costume, black or dark in 
color, with shoes of black or tan leather, 
and a derby or a soft hat. Those who de¬ 
sire a reputation for dressing well will 
scarcely appear in a high hat and tan shoes 
together. 

Sack coats or cutaways can be worn 
with tweed or any rough cloth trousers and 
waistcoat, the weight and color being varied 
to fit the season. As evening approaches 
the sack coat and business suit should be 
replaced by a cutaway or frock coat. In 


356 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


the country rough tweed suits, fancy flan¬ 
nels and any kind of hat may be worn, 
unless the gentleman is going to some 
special social entertainment, when he should 
dress much as in the city. 

The Shirt Waist. 

Once an article of apparel the shirt-waist, 
which was worn almost universally by 
women, was emulated by men, many of 
whom assumed, during business hours, un¬ 
starched colored shirts worn without vests, 
while a waist belt replaced the usual braces. 
Often the coat was discarded. The comfort 
of this attire during the heated term was so 
great that the “ shirt-waist man ” promised 
to become a recognized summer institution. 

As for evening dress, a considerable lati¬ 
tude of opinion concerning this prevails. 
During the warm season—from June to 
October—comfort demands much laxity in 


this respect. As evening dress is never seen 
in city streets without an overcoat, and as 
few care to swelter at the dictum of fashion, 
many men of sense content themselves with 
a neat ordinary dress. There is a variety of 
usage in this respect also at the theatre, and 
it is coming to be imperative to wear even¬ 
ing attire only at formal dinners or at cer¬ 
tain fashionable assemblages which make it 
a requisite. In general, except during the 
summer, it is a safe rule for the denizen of 
fashionable circles to change his dress every 
evening, so as to be prepared for dinner or 
any other formal occasion. But as the 
denizens of fashionable circles compose a 
limited section of the community, an island 
in the sea of the multitude who claim no 
such exclusive honor, evening dress, as a 
general rule, is kept for special occasions, 
and men at home consider comfort and con¬ 
venience far more than fashion. 


III. INTRODUCTIONS. 


The laws of society do not permit you 
to claim acquaintance with other persons 
unless you have been properly introduced, 
though in traveling this rule may often 
be reasonably omitted. Under ordinary 
circumstances care and discrimination 
should be exercised in making gentlemen 
acquainted with each other, and still greater 
heed is demanded in the introduction of 
ladies and gentlemen. It should always be 
understood in advance whether or not the 
lady is likely to desire the introduction. In 
no case should it be thrust upon her without 
regard to her objections. And it is not ad¬ 
visable to make the request within hearing 
of the party concerned, since this may put 
her in an awkward situation, if wishing to 
decline. 

Do not forget that, in introducing one 
person to another, you assume a social re¬ 
sponsibility for the person you introduce, 
and great care should be taken in giving 
this indorsement. It is possible for you to 
inflict a positive injury by introducing a 
man of objectionable character to a lady. If 
you are not well informed in respect to the 
reputation of the one for whom you are about 
to become responsible, pause and go no fur¬ 


ther. You should not be a party to the for¬ 
mation of any relations which may possibly 
have an injurious effect. 

The same conditions hold good in the 
business world. An introduction carries 
with it some indorsement which may lead to 
business transactions involving great finan¬ 
cial risks. 

Rules of Introduction. 

In England, visitors meeting in the same 
house are expected to enter into conversa¬ 
tion, though no formal presentation has 
been made, and no previous acquaintance 
has existed. In the United States, how¬ 
ever, the fashion of introducing people who 
meet as strangers still continues, though in 
certain highly fashionable circles the English 
fashion is affected. It, perhaps, has its ad¬ 
vantages, in enabling visitors to converse 
freely without waiting for the formality of 
an introduction, and leaving them free not 
to know one another afterwards. But it 
has its disadvantages as well, especially 
in the case of shy and easily embarrassed 
people. 

The American rule has long been to 
introduce generally, and in early society in 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


357 


this country it was deemed necessary to 
make everybody in company acquainted, 
from a somewhat forced idea of the require¬ 
ments of hospitality. This wholesale cus¬ 
tom is no longer observed, and common 
sense prevails in this as in social customs 
generally. 

One should always show discretion in 
this observance, as in all the demands of 
society. It is not, for instance, advisable 
to interrupt a conversation for the purpose 
of making an introduction. The intention 
will wait, and even if it fails altogether no 
harm is usually done. Few persons will 
thank you for making them too conspicuous. 

Of the places where an introduction is 
not in order we may particularly instance a 
church. Here it would be quite improper, 
not only within the building, but even at 
its entrance. Nor is it necessary to intro¬ 
duce two persons at an entirely casual meet¬ 
ing—in a street car, for example, or if you 
happen to meet an acquaintance, whom your 
companion does not know, at some friend’s 
door. Of course, if the chat should be ex¬ 
tended, or if you think it desirable that they 
should know one another, an introduction 
is perfectly admissible ; but it is in no sense 
incumbent upon you. 

One further remark in this connection 
may be made, in reference to the frequent 
failure to catch the name of the person intro¬ 
duced. This often causes a feeling of em¬ 
barrassment, and a somewhat awkward 
attempt to discover the missing name. ‘ ‘ I 
didn’t quite catch the name,’ is the most 
ordinary way out of the difficulty, but some¬ 
thing more original might well be attempted, 
as, “Pardon my inattention to Mr. C. I 
was so occupied with the honor offered me 
as to be deaf to the name’’ ; or, less effu¬ 
sively, “Will you kindly tell me again 
whom I have the favor of meeting?’’ 

The trouble is worse when you imme¬ 
diately forget the name, and are lacking in 
this particular on your second meeting with 
the new acquaintance. It is a useful accom¬ 
plishment which all do not possess, that of re¬ 
membering names readily; and to be obliged 
to make the worn-out admission, “Your 
face is perfectly familiar, but I have for¬ 
gotten your name,” is an awkward way out 
qf the difficulty. Better try and get through 


the interview in a way to escape the need of 
using the name, and endeavor to learn it 
before another meeting is likely to take 
place. By repeating the name in acknowl¬ 
edging the introduction and fastening your 
attention thereto, it will not be difficult to 
remember the name. 

The Introducer’s Formula. 

In introductions the common formula is . 
“Mrs. Blank, may I,” or “ allow me to pre¬ 
sent,” or “ introduce, Mr. Smith.” 

Never reverse this order, and so intro¬ 
duce the lady to the gentleman. When the 
sexes are the same, present the person of 
the lesser to the one of the greater age or 
importance. 

Always mention the name in introducing 
members of your family. Say, “ My father, 
Mr. Simpson,” “ My daughter, Miss Simp¬ 
son,” or “Miss Ellen Simpson. ” Your 
wife should be introduced simply as “ Mrs. 
Simpson.” 

In introducing persons with titles, tne 
title should always be distinctly mentioned. 
Thus, you should say, in presenting a clergy¬ 
man to a senator of the United States, 

“ Senator A., permit me to introduce you to 
my friend, the Reverend Dr. W. Dr. W. is 
the rector of St. M. Church, Boston.” 
Then turning to Dr. W., say, “Senator A, 
represents the State of M. in the United 
States Senate.” 

Upon meeting strangers it is well to add 
some pleasant remark or suggest some inter¬ 
est in common between them. This will 
serve to put them at their ease and aid them 
to start a conversation. The party presented 
may simply say, “How do you do?” or 
‘ ‘ I am glad to know you, ’ ’ following it with 
such subject of talk as may occur to him. 

Introductions do not necessitate future 
mutual recognition, unless agreeable to the 
parties introduced. The ceremony is simply 
an opportunity offered for present acquain¬ 
tance, and can be ignored by one or both 
parties immediately after they leave the 
presence of the person who made the intro¬ 
duction. 

A gentleman should never bow to a lady 
when first meeting her after an introduction, 
until she gives him some sign of recognition, 
thus intimating her desire to continue the 


35 8 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


acquaintance. A gentleman should always 
return the bow, even though he may not care 
for the acquaintance. 

Ladies and gentleman need not shake 
hands with each other when introduced. A 
bow is sufficient acknowledgement of the 
introduction. Persons of the same sex may 
or may not shake hands. In formal fashion¬ 
able circles the hostess alone shakes hands, 
but ordinarily it is quite in order to offer 
the hand when introduced. 

Persons meeting at the houses of friends 
when making morning calls need not be in¬ 
troduced to one another, and should not be 
unless there is good reason to believe that 
such introduction will be mutually agree¬ 
able. Nor is it proper for persons who have 
met in ihis manner, without introduction, to 
bow or express recognition otherwise should 
they again meet. 

A person making a visit to your house 
should be introduced to every caller. At 
an evening party it is the duty of the host or 
hostess to make their guests acquainted with 
one another. 

A gentleman should always promptly 
offer his services to a lady in any position of 
difficulty, whether he knows her or not. 
Her acceptance of his services does not give 
him any claim upon her acquaintance, nor 
need she feel obliged to recognize him after¬ 
wards without a formal introduction. 

An introduction, however, gives one a 
claim upon the courtesy of another, whether 
the acquaintance be pleasant or the contrary. 
To ignore a person to whom you have been 
properly introduced is certainly an act of 
ill-breeding, and under certain circumstances 
becomes an act of insolence. 

Salutations. 

In meeting a friend upon the street, or in 
company, you should salute him cordially, 
but quietly and respectfully. A gentleman 
should always salute a lady by raising the 
hat and making a formal bow. In company, 
the head being uncovered, the bow alone is 
your salutation; but it should in either case, 
be a decided inclination of the head and 
body, not a mere nod. 

In this country, among ladies, kissing is 
a common mode of salutation, even on the 
street. But indications are that this custom 


is less popular for hygienic reasons. Gen¬ 
tlemen generally shake hands, or in pass¬ 
ing each other bow, or make a courteous 
motion of the hand. Even where you are 
not on good terms with a person it is cour¬ 
teous to bow to him. Should he fail to re¬ 
turn the bow the offence is his, and you have 
lost nothing by your politeness. 

The lady should bow first in meeting a 
gentleman on the street. It is her privilege 
to do so, as she thus shows whether she 
desires to continue his acquaintance or not. 
A failure on her part to bow first excuses 
the gentleman from saluting her. Among 
very intimate friends either party may salute 
first. 

In riding, a gentleman raises his hat 
with his right hand, as the left is occupied 
with the reins. 

When two or more gentlemen, walking 
on the street, meet a lady who is known to 
one only, all should raise their hats and bow. 
Those unacquainted with the lady thus show 
their respect for their friend’s friend. 

A gentleman when smoking, if meeting 
a lady acquaintance, should remove the cigar 
from his mouth and hold it down by his side 
before raising his hat to her. Above all, 
never smoke while walking or riding with 
a lady. She may not object to it, but that 
does not pardon your rudeness. 

A young lady should treat an elderly 
person, either man or woman, with the same 
deference she expects at the hands of a gen¬ 
tleman. 

Calls, Formal and Informal. 

Residents of large cities should call in 
person upon all their acquaintances at 
least once a year, if circumstances permit, 
and should pay additional visits to all from 
whom invitations have been received. Calls 
should also be made when an engagement 
' or marriage has taken place in the family of 
an acquaintance, or an acquaintance has 
returned home after a long absence. 

The receipt of any especial hospitality, 
such as a dinner, luncheon, dance, etc., 
obligates that the recipient should call as 
soon thereafter as possible. If living at a 
distance a brief note to the host or hostess 
acknowledging the pleasure received is pro¬ 
per ; especially is this expected after an ex- 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


359 


tended visit. This is imperative, but it is not 
necessary after a five o’clock tea or an at- 
home, no one being obliged to follow one call 
with another. Such obligation as exists is for 
the party who gave the tea to return your 
call ; and this is obviously impossible if her 
invitations have been very numerous. After 
being invited to visit a country house, a call 
should be made on those giving the invita¬ 
tion immediately after their return to their 
town residence. 

In case of a newcomer to the street, or 
the city if a small one, older residents should 
call, and this visit should invariably be 
returned in person within a week. Etiquette 
permits a gentleman—a stranger—ro call 
upon a lady under the following circum¬ 
stances : If she has invited him to call, if 
he brings a letter of introduction, or if an 
intimate friend of the lady or of the family 
presents him. 

Custom and courtesy require that a lady 
shall call on her lady friends at stated times, 
or at moderate intervals. These calls are 
generally short and formal in character, the 
conversation being devoted to society news 
and similar light subjects. Ten or fifteen 
minutes is the usual length of a formal call, 
half an hour the extreme limit. If while 
calling a second visitor arrives, the first 
visitor should take leave as soon as she can 
do so without seeming abrupt. Special 
friends of tne hostess may linger for an hour 
if they wish. 

In the large cities of the East such calls 
were formerly made between n a.m. and 
4 p.m., but later hours in the afternoon are 
now the vogue, as from three to half-past five. 
Evening calls, unless in response to invita¬ 
tion or through mutual understanding, are 
out of order except in small communities. 
They may break into the dinner hour, or 
interfere with a theatre party or other outing. 

Of course, these rules do not refer to the 
intercourse of intimate friends, the informal 
“ running in,” which may take place at any 
time in the day or evening, and need not in¬ 
terfere with any engagement. Gentlemen, 
as a rule, have only the evening to call in, 
but may call on Sunday afternoon after three. 

A lady, in making a formal call, should 
not remove her bonnet or wrap. A gentle¬ 
man, in a similar case, was formerly required, 


while leaving his umbrella and overcoat in 
the hall, to bring his hat and cane into the 
receiving room, either holding them or 
placing them on the floor by his chair. This 
rule, however, is no longer observed, and it 
is optional with the visitor to leave them in 
the hall if he prefers. 

Eadies should make morning calls in 
simple toilette, and not in very rich dresses. 
Gentlemen wear morning dress. 

Ending a Call. 

When a call is ended it is customary 
among the best bred people to ring for a ser¬ 
vant to open the front door for a visitor. 
Some persons prefer to attend visitors to the 
door themselves ; and this should be done 
if a servant is not called upon. It is not 
courteous to let a visitor find his or her way 
out of your house unattended. 

A lady should never attend a gentleman 
to the door ; nor a lady either, if in so doing 
she is obliged to leave other lady callers in 
the drawing-room. 

It is optional with the hostess whether 
or not to rise from her seat and cross the 
room to greet a visitor, or to accompany to 
the door a lady who is taking her departure, 
in case of no other ladies being present. 
But in these, as in all other cases where the 
rules of etiquette are not imperative, it is 
well to remember that the course which sets 
the guest most at ease will always be the 
choice of a kindly nature. 

In making a call, if the lady called upon 
is not at home, leave your card ; and if there 
are several ladies staying there whom you 
desire to see, request the servant to present 
your compliments to them severally. Should 
you not have a card, leave your name. 

When a lady visitor takes her leave, a 
gentleman, if present, should rise, and offer 
to conduct her to her carriage. The offer 
may not be accepted, but if it is, do not 
forget to return and pay your respects to 
your hostess before quitting the house. 

In case of other visitors entering during 
your call, your hostess is not obliged to in¬ 
troduce you to them, and you should take 
no offence at her failure to do so. In taking 
leave after their entrance, do so in such a 
way as not to make it appear that your 
departure is on account of their coming. 


360 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


You may make visits of congratulation 
upon the occurrence of any happy or agree¬ 
able event in the family of a friend—such 
as a marriage, a birth, or the inheritance of 
wealth. Such visits should be made in the 
morning. 

You should not defer a visit of condo¬ 
lence beyond the next week after a death 
occurs in a family. Among friends such 

IV. VISITING 

Visits of friendship are governed by no 
set rules of etiquette, and need not be formal 
either as to length or manner. It is to be 
presumed that friends or relatives will con¬ 
form to each other’s tastes and habits, and 
conduct themselves in a manner that will be 
mutually agreeable. With intimate friends 
strict ceremony is uncalled for, yet there are 
certain liberties which you enjoy at home 
which are not proper to take in the house of 
a friend. 

It is a sign of ill-breeding, in such a 
visit, to criticise the conduct of servants or 
children, or anything connected with the 
household or the members of the family. 
Remarks of any kind on the faults or foibles 
of persons belonging or closely related to 
the family are sadly misplaced; and such 
remarks made after taking leave show a 
lack of good feeling which is not redeemed 
by being unheard by those interested. In 
such cases one should strictly apply the 
golden rule of friendship, to do nothing by 
act, word, or deed that may cause a dis¬ 
agreeable feeling on the part of an enter¬ 
tainer or any member of his family. 

Evening Calls. 

In many communities, where it is cus¬ 
tomary to make formal evening calls after 
dinner, the usual hour is from nine to ten 
o’clock. In making an informal evening, 
call, a lady may bring a gentleman with 
her, presenting him to her hostess, who will 
present him to her other guests. 

The mistress of the house usually receives 
the visitors, being assisted by her husband 
or some other gentleman in the case of even¬ 
ing parties. The reception should be quiet, 
easy, and without over-ceremony. In some 
places it is customary to announce the 


visits are regarded as an imperative duty, 
except where contagious diseases render 
them dangerous. 

In calling upon a person living or stay¬ 
ing temporarily at a hotel, wait in the parlor 
and send up your card. Even intimate 
friends should observe this rule. A gentle¬ 
man may wait in the office or hall of the 
hotel while the waiter takes up his card. 

AND VISITORS 

names of guests as they enter the room. 
The host or hostess may then present them 
to other guests, if they are not already 
acquaintances. 

When any one enters the room, whether 
announced or not, courtesy requires that the 
host or hostess shall rise at once, advance 
toward the visitor with words of welcoming, 
and request him or her to be seated. The 
seat offered should be one that seems most 
suitable to the age or sex of the visitor. If 
the master of the house receives the visitors, 
he will take a chair and place himself at a 
little distance from them ; if, on the con¬ 
trary, it is the mistress, and if she is intimate 
with the lady who visits her, she will place 
herself near her. 

If several ladies come at once, we give 
the most honorable place to the one who, 
from age or other considerations, is most 
entitled to respect. If the visitor is a 
stranger, when the master or mistress of the 
house rises any person who may be already 
in the room should do the same, unless the 
company is a large one. When any of the 
company withdraw, the master or mistress 
of the house should conduct them as far as 
the door. But whoever the persons may be 
that depart, if we have other company we 
may dispense with conducting them farther 
than the door of the room. 

If, upon entering a house where you wish 
to pay an evening call, you should find a 
small party assembled, it is best to present 
yourself precisely as though you had been 
invited. Aftei a short while you may take 
your leave, explaining that you only in¬ 
tended to make a brief call. 

Do not unduly prolong an evening visit. 
It is apt to become tiresome even to your 
most intimate friends, and, though they 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


361 


politely exert themselves to be agreeable, it 
does not argue that they are not wearied. 

Should you find a lady on the point of 
going out when you make your call, make 
it as brief as possible, in order to leave her 
at liberty to carry out her plans. 

When you have risen to go, do not delay 
your departure. 

When you are prevented from attending 
a dinner party, or social gathering, call 
upon the person giving it without delay, 
and express your regret for your absence. 
In visiting a city where a friend resides, 
it is best to go to a hotel, although he may 
have invited you to make his house your 
home. You can afterwards call upon him, 
and should he then urge you to accept his 
hospitality, you can do so with propriety. 

When asking guests to visit you in your 
home, whether in the country or city, it is 
proper to fix the date of their arrival and 
of their leaving, whether the length of their 
visit is to be two days or a fortnight. If 
the desired duration of a visit should not 
be specified in the invitation, a considerate 
person will take care not to extend it over a 
week, and a shorter time would be still bet¬ 
ter. It is courteous, in every case, to state 
to your host how long you expect to stay. 

In case of a visit without invitation, you 
should always write to inform even a near 
relative or very intimate friend of your in¬ 
tended visit, and the time you expect to arrive. 

Among the leading duties of the host or 
hostess may be named the following: See 
that everything has been prepared for the 
comfort of the guests. Anticipate their 
bodily wants as much as possible. Direct 
that some servant shall go to their rooms 
twice a day and ascertain whether anything 
is desired, and whether any assistance can 
be rendered. Arrange so that they can be 
provided with cold or warm baths, as they 
may prefer, every morning. See that coarse 
towels or bath-sheets are within their reach. 
Have a can of hot water taken to each room 
at the hours of dressing. A pitcher of iced 
water and a glass on a tray should be placed 
in the bedrooms at night. 

Entertaining Guests. 

Do not bore visitors by constantly trying 
to amuse them. After means of amusement 


have been provided, let it be optional with 
them as to whether they avail themseb’cs of 
these or not. Permit your visitor^ to enjoy 
the liberty of solitude and quiet if they 
prefer. Any apparent effort to entertain is 
always bad form. The every-day life of a 
family should not be interfered with by the 
arrival of guests. 

Visitors should conform as much as 
possible to the habits and customs of the 
household. They should be moderate in 
their demands for personal attendance. 
They should not carry their moods into the 
drawing-room or to the table, and, whethei 
they are bored or not, should be ready to con¬ 
tribute as much as is in their power to make 
an atmosphere of pleasure. If the above 
involves too much self-sacrifice, then an 
invitation to visit should not be accepted. 

In case a lady guest is expected, some 
gentleman of the family should meet her at 
the train, or other place of expected arrival, 
look after her baggage, and make all ar¬ 
rangements requisite to enable her to reach 
your house without delay or discomfort. 

Bidding Guests Adieu. 

While it is not wise to disarrange the 
regular routine of a household on account 
of the arrival of a guest, a reasonable time 
should be devoted to the entertainment of 
the visitor. Receptions, excursions, etc., 
may be provided for, the places of note in 
the vicinity shown, and pleasant aequaint- 
ences visited or invited to call. The guest, 
on departure, should be accompanied to cars 
or boat, and cordially taken leave of on the 
departure of the conveyance. 

Ladies or gentlemen of true courtesy 
will treat with kindness or politeness the 
servants of the family visited, and may rea¬ 
sonably remember with some gratuity those 
by whom they have been served. Simple 
presents may also with propriety be made 
to the children of the family. Costly or 
lavish gifts, however, are not in order, and 
have the ill effect of placing your enter¬ 
tainers under an obligation for which they 
may not mentally thank you. 

Do not outdress the members of the 
family in which you are a guest, especially 
in attending an entertainment or place of 
amusement with them. 


362 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


Enter heartily into the plans that are 
made for your entertainment or amusement. 
You should never permit your host or 
hostess to feel that he or she has disappointed 
you while seeking to add to your enjoyment. 

Upon returning home after a visit, write 
immediately to your host or hostess, an¬ 
nouncing your safe arrival; and be careful 
to send kind messages to each member of 
the family, mentioning all by name. 

Engraved or Printed Cards. 

The extent to which the use of visiting 
cards is sometimes extended furnishes oc¬ 
casion to some, unused to polite society, to 
ridicule what they call ‘ ‘ pasteboard polite¬ 
ness,” and yet these paper representatives of 
our personality are exceedingly useful 
things; indespensible, indeed, to the full dis¬ 
charge of social obligations. 

In the selection of cards several things 
are to be considered ; style, size, color, and 
character of writing. As for color, it should 
always be pure white. The size and shape 
are regulated by the prevailing fashion, but 
any attempt at display, such as fancy de¬ 
signs, gilt borders, odd shapes, etc., are 
considered vulgar by well-bred people. 

The most tasteful card is an engraved 
one. The printed card comes next, then 
the written card. The fashion as to letters 
changes, but a plain script or old English 
text, well engraved, is always neat and in 
good taste. In case the card is written, it 
should be done in pencil rather than in ink, 
thus suggesting that its use is a matter of 
accident. 

The proper size for a gentleman is 
smaller and more oblong in shape than that 
ordinarily used by ladies. If he have no 
title, “ Mr.” should precede the name. A 
lady’s card should have the word “ Mrs.” or 
“ Miss ” prefixed to her name. The eldest 
daughter of a family needs “Miss” only 
before the family name. The younger 
daughters need the christain names also. 

The titles properly placed on cards are 
those of army and navy officers, physicians, 
judges, and ministers of the gospel, but 
neither militia nor any other complimentary 
titles are allowable. 

Ladies now usually have the entire 
name—with the prefix of * ‘ Miss ’ ’ or 


“ Mrs.” engraved on their cards, as “ Mrs. 
John Morris Eames,” “ Miss Edith Lloyd 
Richardson.” 

Custom sanctions the engraving of the 
address on all visiting cards, and some 
ladies have the reception day engraved in 
the left-hand corner. In some cities there 
is one exception to this rule. A young 
lady, during her first winter in society, does 
not use a separate visiting card, but has her 
name engraved on the card of her mother or 
chaperon. 

A single gentleman, if he prefers, can 
have his club address engraved on his card, 
instead of the number of his residence. 

A widow can use on her cards either her 
own or her husband’s name, as choice may 
dictate ; though she has legally no right to 
retain the latter, custom sanctions it. 

Husband and wife must have separate 
visiting cards. It is no longer the fashion 
to have the two names printed together, as 
formerly. 

Rules for Leaving Cards. 

In making the first call of the season, a 
lady leaves with her own, her husband’s 
card, and also those of her sons and 
daughters. After a dinner party, or other 
special entertainment, a lady leaves her 
husband’s card with her own. 

A married lady, in calling upon another 
married lady, should leave one of her own 
cards and two of her husband’s—one of the 
latter being for the wife and one for the 
husband. If the lady called on has a 
daughter in society, the visitor should leave 
two of her own cards and three of her hus¬ 
band’s. If there be another lady in the 
house besides the hostess two cards each of 
wife and husband should be left. When 
calling on a mother and daughters, a lady 
should leave two cards. 

- When paying a first call to several ladies 
—not mother and daughters—a card should 
be left for each. When calling on the guest 
of a house, a card should be left for the 
hostess also, even if she is a stranger to the 
visitor. 

When calling at a hotel, it is allowable, 
and even desirable, to write the name of the 
person for whom the visit is intended upon 
the card, to avoid the chance of mistakes; 




BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


363 


this should never be done at a private 
residence. Cards should be left or sent on 
the day of a reception, if illness, a death in 
the family, or any other cause prevents the 
acceptance of the invitation. 

Cards should not be turned down at the 
corners, nor bent over at one end—the fash¬ 
ion is now out of date. 

In sending a first invitation to a person 
on whom the hostess has never called, cards 
should be enclosed with the invitation ; but, 
if possible, a call should precede a first 
invitation. 

After a proper interval of time, cards of 
condolence may be acknowledged (by send¬ 
ing mourning cards inclosed in an envelope). 

No lady should use on her cards a sug¬ 
gestion of her husband’s profession or titles 
of honor, such as “ Mrs. General Brown,” 
“Mrs. Dr. Smith,” etc. Nor should she 
be addressed in this manner in conversation. 

In case a person is going away, and likely 
to be absent for a length of time, it is proper 
to write p. p. c. on his or her card, and mail 
the same to acquaintances. The letters thus 
used signify ‘ ‘ pour prendre cong£, ’ ’ which 
translated from the French means “ to take 
leave.’ ’ Some write the English words out 
in full. Upon returning home your friends 
must first call upon you. 

If death occurs in any household where 
one is in the habit of visiting, it is proper to 
leave cards upon the family within a month 
after. 

When a gentleman calls after receiving 
hospitality, he should leave cards for all the 


ladies of the family and one for the gentle¬ 
man representing the head of the house, 
whether young or old. 

When a lady is paying merely formal 
visits she need not necessarily ask whether 
the lady upon whom she is calling is at 
home, but can leave cards simply, unless 
she is under obligation for some courtesy, 
in which case she must ask whether the 
lady can receive her. 

It is better to leave cards in the hall 
when entering an afternoon reception or tea, 
as the hostess might otherwise not remember 
your presence, and a card left in person 
would afterwards remind her that she was 
your debtor for a visit—for if you attend an 
afternoon reception it is equivalent to a call. 

If you receive cards for a series of “at 
homes,” and for some good reason cannot 
accept the invitation, send your card on the 
last day named. 

A card left for you during your illness 
should be answered by a call as soon as 
your recovery will permit. 

Should you send a card to a person who 
is ill, the bearer should always make a ver¬ 
bal inquiry as to your friend’s condition of 
health. 

In making calls upon an intimate friend 
it is not necessary to send your card in. 
The simple announcement of your name is 
sufficient. The use of a card always has an 
air of formality about it. Where persons 
are on cordial terms, and are visiting back 
and forth frequently, a card can very well 
be dispensed with. 


V. BALLS AND EVENING PARTIES 


It is in the evening party that society 
puts on its gayest aspect, and is on its best 
behavior. Here everything is regulated by 
a strict code of observance, any departure 
from which opens one to critical remark. 
It is necessary, therefore, that the etiquette 
of the ball-room should be fully understood 
by all who claim admission to society. 

These entertainments always include danc¬ 
ing and a supper. If large, they are called 
balls ; if small, simply dances or parties. 
Balls are of two kinds, public and private, 
but there is no essential difference between 
che etiquette required on the two occasions. 


As regards the giving of private parties 
or balls, the rule is, that ball-goers should 
make one return during the season. In 
doing so, it is in good taste to restrict the 
number of invitations as far as social obli¬ 
gations will permit, that the guests may not 
be overcrowded, and the unpleasantness of 
the “crush” may be avoided. To gain 
this desirable end, however, it is always 
safe to make the invitations in excess of the 
number desired, as some are sure to fail to 
come. One-third more than the room will 
comfortably hold may usually be safely 
asked. And experience shows that more 


364 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


gentlemen than ladies should be invited, in 
order to secure an equal number of dancers 
of both sexes. 

Invitations may be sent out from two to 
three weeks before the time fixed for the 
party. Less than two weeks is usually con¬ 
sidered too short notice. 

The hour for balls has, unfortunately, 
been made very late by the absolute dictum 
of fashion. Unless specially indicated on 
the invitation, a hostess cannot hope to as¬ 
semble her guests before half-past ten, and 
in large cities the rooms are often not filled 
till an hour later. 

Subscription Dances. 

In most of the large cities several series 
of dances are arranged by certain leaders in 
the social world to which people are invited 
to subscribe. Each subscriber is usually 
entitled to a number of invitations for dis¬ 
tribution, though in some instances the 
price of the subscription is small, and only 
permits one person to take advantage of 
each. 

The subscription balls take place in 
some public ball-room, as a rule. In New 
York, for instance, at Delmonico’s. 

Several ladies are selected to form the 
reception committee, and they stand in one 
of the outer rooms, bowing to the guests as 
they enter. On such occasions, no one 
shakes hands; the ladies courtesy, and the 
gentlemen bow. 

No unmarried lady should go to one of 
these balls, or to any large party, without a 
chaperon, and invitations should be sent to 
an elder member of her family, in order 
that she need not look outside for proper 
attendance. 

In the West and South it is customary 
for gentlemen to take unmarried ladies to 
evening entertainments, but in the East, 
and in the best city society generally, such 
a thing would be considered the greatest 
breach of decorum. At a small dance in 
a private house a young lady may dispense 
with the services of a chaperon, if desired, 
but she should be escorted to and from the 
house by a servant or relative. 

A good floor is essential to the enjoy¬ 
ment of dancing ; when the carpet is taken 
up, care should be used that no roughness 


of surface is presented. Some ladies have 
their dancing-floors carefully polished with 
beeswax and a brush. A crumb-cloth or 
linen diaper, thoroughly well stretched over 
a carpet, is the next best thing to a polished 
floor. 

The question of music is important. If 
it is a large ball, four musicians is the least 
number that should be engaged—piano, 
cornet or flute, violin, and violoncello. In 
small assemblies the violin and piano are 
sufficient, or, on occasion, the piano alone. 
I11 such a case a chance pianist should not 
be depended upon, but a professional one be 
engaged. 

The orchestra should occupy what is 
considered the top of the room, in cases 
where it is not convenient to adhere to this 
rule, the end farthest from the door is usu¬ 
ally chosen. The position of the orchestra 
needs to be considered by the dancers, so 
that, in quadrilles, their movements may be 
regulated thereby. 

The Dressing Room. 

A cloak-room for ladies must be pro¬ 
vided, with maids to receive shawls and 
cloaks and to render such other assistance 
as may be required. It should contain sev¬ 
eral looking-glasses, and a supply of such 
articles as may be required in a lady’s 
toilette. 

A hat room for gentlemen must not be 
forgotten, with valets to wait upon them. 
It is best to provide checks for articles be¬ 
longing to ladies and gentlemen left in 
charge of the attendants. Where checks 
cannot be had, tickets numbered in dupli¬ 
cate may be used—one being given to the 
lady or gentleman, and the other pinned to 
the coat or cloak. By this means the prop¬ 
erty of each guest is identified, and con¬ 
fusion at the time of departure is prevented. 

Small fees of twenty-five or fifty cents 
are often given to servants in the dressing- 
room at a public ball, but never in private 
houses in this country, though the custom 
is common in England. Waiters should be 
on hand at supper to serve the meal, as the 
fashion of the gentlemen waiting upon the 
ladies is rapidly becoming obsolete. 

In large cities, an awning should always 
be extended from the front door to the curb- 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


365 


stone, on the occasion of a reception or 
other entertainment, as ladies do not like to 
step out of their carriages in light or elab¬ 
orate dresses without some protection from 
the weather, and from the gaze of a curious 
crowd. 

The Question of Toilette. 

Ladies may wear as handsome dresses as 
they wish, and make their fullest display of 
jewelry. As everything about a ball-room 
should be light and attractive, it is in order 
for elderly ladies, who do not dance, to wear 
dresses more youthful in style and color 
than would be suitable for dinner, concert, 
or opera. For those who dance, silk dresses 
are, as a^rule, objectionable. 

Flowers are the proper ornaments for the 
head and dress. French ladies select them 
with reference to the season ; but this is not 
insisted on in this country, and summer 
flowers may be worn at Christmas. 

Ladies in deep mourning should not 
dance, even if they permit themselves to at¬ 
tend a ball. Should they do so, black and 
scarlet or violet is the proper wear. Where 
the mourning is sufficiently slight for danc¬ 
ing to be seemly, white, with mauve, violet 
or black trimmings, flounces, etc., is proper. 

White gloves befit the ball-room ; in 
mourning they may be sewn with black. 
They should be faultless as to fit, and never 
be removed from the hands in the ball¬ 
room. 

The attire in which a gentleman can 
present himself in a ball-room is so rigor¬ 
ously defined, and admits of so little variety, 
that it can be described in a few words. 

He must wear a black dress coat, black 
trousers, and a black waistcoat; a white 
necktie, white kid gloves, and patent leather 
boots. The waistcoat should be low, so as 
to disclose an ample shirt-front, fine and 
delicately plaited ; it is better not embroid¬ 
ered, but small gold studs may be used 
with effect. Excess of jewelry is to be 
avoided. The necktie should be of a wash¬ 
ing texture, not silk, and not set off with 
embroidery. 

In the BalFRoom. 

In a private ball or party, guests, on en¬ 
tering, should at once proceed to pay their 


respects to the lady of the house, who will 
remain near the door to greet them as they 
appear. Some of the gentlemen of the 
house should be near, to introduce to the 
lady any of their friends on their arrival. 
The daughters of the household are not 
required to assist in the ceremony of recep¬ 
tion. 

The fashion of carrying numerous bou¬ 
quets to a ball is rapidly going out of exist¬ 
ence, and many ladies refuse to take any 
flowers into a ball-room, the old custom 
having given rise to much vulgar rivalry 
and ostentatious display. 

At public balls cards giving the order 
of dances are provided, on which gentlemen 
can write their names opposite the numbers 
of the dances for which they have been ac¬ 
cepted by the lady holding the card. In 
England such cards are in general use, but 
they are rarely provided at private balls in 
this country. 

From eighteen to twenty dances is a 
convenient number to arrange for, with 
supper as a suitable break at about the 
middle of the entertainment. A ball should 
begin with a march, followed in succession 
by a quadrille and a waltz. Then waltzes 
and quadrilles follow as may be arranged. 

The cotillon or German, now so widely 
known, fills up the larger part of the even¬ 
ing, and begins, as a rule, immediately after 
supper. In a private house, the gentleman 
who has been invited to lead the German 
must ask the unmarried daughter of the 
family to dance with him, or the married 
daughter if so indicated as the family’s 
choice. At the more general dances or 
large balls a young married lady is usually 
the one selected to dance with the leader. 

It is quite the custom for a gentleman to 
engage a partner for the cotillon before the 
evening of the dance, and in this case, pro¬ 
vided he can afford it, he usually sends her 
a bouquet of flowers. But should the lady 
request him not to remember her in this way 
her wishes should be respected. 

Any gentleman, provided his acquaint¬ 
ance with the lady be sufficiently intimate to 
warrant him in doing so, has the privilege 
of sending her offerings of flowers whenever 
he cares to do so. In such a case he should 
go to a florist, leave an order for the kind of 


3 66 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


bouquet he wishes sent, and also his c ird 
in an envelope addressed to the lady, wh ch 
envelope should accompany the flowers. 

Formerly, at public balls a master of 
ceremonies was considered always neces¬ 
sary, but this official is no longer provided, 
the management being now entrusted to a 
committee of arrangements, who are distin¬ 
guished by wearing ribbons in the button¬ 
hole, or rosettes. The members of the 
committee superintend the dances, provide 
partners for those who need them, and 
introduce gentlemen to ladies with whom 
they desire to dance. 

In private balls, the lady of the house or 
some member of the family attends to intro¬ 
ductions, and when she has grown daughters 
they may employ themselves in arranging 
sets, introducing partners, and the like, de¬ 
sisting from dancing themselves while any 
of the lady guests remain unprovided with 
partners. 

Requests to Dance. 

The former fashion of saying, “May I 
have the pleasure of dancing with you?” 
has now given place to a less formal method, 
and a young man may accost a young lady 
with, “ I hope you have kept a dance for 
me,” “ Won’t you spare me a dance?” or 
“Shall we take a turn?” A young lady 
does not answer, “ I shall be very happy,” 
a reply which has disappeared with ‘ ‘ May I 
have the pleasure?” but may say, “ I am 
afraid I have none to spare except number 
ten, a quadrille,” or “ I am engaged for the 
next five dances; but I’ll give you one, if 
you come for it a little later, ’ ’ or something 
similarly appropriate. 

Another form of invitation is, “Are you 
engaged for this dance?” An unsophisti¬ 
cated girl may answer by saying, “ I do not 
think I am,” while perfectly aware that she 
is not, and the young men are quick to see 
through the evasion by which the maiden •* 
seeks to conceal her lack of partners. A 
clever girl will escape from the dilemma by 
such an answer, as “ I am glad to say I am 
not,” thus inferring that she might have 
been engaged had she desired, but preferred 
waiting for the chance of dancing with 
him —a suggestion flattering to the gentle¬ 
man. 


Ball-room small talk is not expected to 
rise above the common-place. The ma¬ 
terials supplied by the entertainment itself 
are very limited—the band, the flowers, the 
floor, the supper. Dull people usually ring 
the changes on these themes. For instance, 
“ How well the band plays ! 5 ’ “ What a 

pleasant ball-room this is ! ” “ Don’t you 

think the floor slippery ! ” “ How warm it 

is growing ! ”, etc., etc. Such phrases, by 
incessant repetition, grow wearisome, and 
those who can master any more novel 
phrases should make an earnest effort to 
vary the monotony. Nothing very serious 
or profound is in place, but almost any one 
can escape from such trite subjects as these. 

In the Dance. 

When a lady has accepted an invitation 
to dance, the gentleman offers her his right 
arm, and leads her to her place on the floor. 

A slight knowledge of the figure is suffi¬ 
cient to enable a gentleman to move through 
a quadrille, if he is easy and unembarrassed, 
and his manners are courteous ; but to ask 
a lady to join you in a waltz, or other round 
dance, in which you are not proficient, is 
an offence not easily forgiven, as it may ex¬ 
pose the lady to awkward einbrassment. 

It is inadvisable to dance in every set, as 
the exercise is unpleasantly heating and 
fatiguing. Never forget an engagement— 
it is an offence that does not admit of ex¬ 
cuse, except when a lady commits it; and 
then a gentleman is bound to take her at 
her word without a murmur. It is quite 
probable, however, that he will remember 
it against her, and take care not to be again 
victimized by her. 

At the end of a quadrille the gentleman 
should offer his right arm to the lady, and 
walk half round the room with her. He 
should inquire if she will take refreshments, 
and, if she replies in the affirmative, conduct 
her to the room devoted to that purpose. It 
is good taste on the part of the lady not to 
detain her cavalier here so long as to prevent 
him from fulfilling his next engagement, 
since he cannot return to the ball-room un¬ 
til she is ready to be escorted thither, and 
resigned to her chaperon or friends, or to 
the partner who claims her promise for the 
next dance. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 367 


Taking Supper. 

The gentleman who dances with a lady 
in the last dance before supper, conducts 
her to the suppei-room, attends on" her 
while there, and escorts her back to the ball¬ 
room. At a private ball, the lady of the 
house may ask a gentleman to take a lady 
down to supper, and he is bound to comply, 
and to treat her with the politest attention. 

In either case a gentleman will not sup 
with the ladies, but stand by and attend to 
them, permitting himself a glass of wine 
with them; but taking a subsequent op¬ 
portunity to secure his own refreshment. 

Refreshments must be provided for the 
guests during the evening ; and, as nothing 
should be handed round in the ball-room, a 
refreshment-room is necessary. This should, 
if possible, be on the same floor as the ball¬ 
room, because it is not only inconvenient, 
but dangerous, for ladies heated by the 
dance to encounter the draught of the stair¬ 
cases. 

In the refreshment-room, lemonade, tea 
and coffee, ices, biscuits, wafers, cakes and 
cracker bonbons should be provided. Some 
persons add wine to the list. 

The supper table should be set in a 
separate room. It is usually opened to the 
guests about 12.30 o’clock, and may con¬ 
sist of hot and cold dishes, including oysters, 
bouillon, game, croquettes, filet of beef, 
salads, pates, ices, cakes, sweets, jellies, 
fruits, and champagne, punch, lemonade 
and mineral waters, or such combinations or 
variations of these viands as may be decided 
upon. Small tables are frequently used at 
balls, so that four or six people may sit at 


one table and eat their supper comfortably 
in courses. 

In private parties the character of the 
supper will, of course, depend upon the 
taste and resources of those who give the 
ball. To order it in from a good caterer is 
the simplest plan, but may often prove too 
expensive. If provided at home, let it be 
done on a liberal, but not too profuse a 
scale. 

After the Ball. 

Assemblies of this kind should be left 
quietly. If the party is small, it is permis¬ 
sible to bow to the hostess ; but at a large 
ball this is not necessary, unless you meet 
her on your way from the room. It is im¬ 
portant to avoid making your departure 
felt as a suggestion for breaking up the 
party, it being very impolite to indicate by 
your movements or manner that, in your 
opinion, the entertainment has been kept up 
long enough. 

Finally, let no gentleman presume on a 
ball-room introduction. It is given with a 
view to one dance only, and will certainly 
not warrant a gentleman in going further 
than asking a lady to dance a second time. 
Out of the ball-room such an introduction 
has no force whatever. 

If those who have danced together meet 
next day in the street, or the park, the 
gentleman must not venture to bow, unless 
the lady chooses to favor him with some 
mark of her recognition. If he does, he 
must not expect any acknowledgment of his 
salutation. 

After a private ball it is etiquette to call 
at the house during the following week. 


VI. BREAKFAST, LUNCHEON AND TEA 


The hour at which breakfast shall be 
served is governed entirely by the habits and 
tastes of the family. Where it is very late, 
it is often preceded by the sending of coffee 
or tea, rolls and eggs in some form, to the 
bed rooms, the family, in such a case, not 
coming down to a general meal till about 
noon. Breakfast, however, is served in the 
same manner whether the hour be early or 
late, and this meal should always be quite 
free from formality. 


A tea and coffee tray should be placed in 
front of the mistress of the house. It is 
quite within the rules of breakfast etiquette 
for people to wait on themselves and to help 
each other, and as the bread, small dishes, 
etc., are frequently on the side table, this is 
a very convenient fashion. One servant is 
enough in the dining-room in the morning, 
even though a larger number may be retained. 

Ordinary courses for breakfast consist of 
three or four, such as hominy or oatmeal 


363 


book: of etiquette 


first, then eggs, meat, or ham, and the 
chief portion of the food, followed by grid¬ 
dle-cakes and finally fruit. Toast should 
be freshly made, and sent up from time to 
time while the breakfast goes on. It should be 
always hot, as cold toast is never palatable. 

Luncheon. 

In imitation of the French, the meal 
which in our country is usually called 
“ lunch ” or “ luncheon,” is sometimes de¬ 
signated as “ breakfast.” It may either be 
formal, resembling a dinner, or informal, 
like the breakfast just described. It is ser¬ 
ved between 12.30 and 1.30, and the hostess 
may make it as simple or as elegant as 
she chooses. A formal luncheon party, 
however, differs little, if at all, from a din¬ 
ner. If the occasion is a ceremonious one, 
the table is set in the same manner as for 
a dinner, and the dishes are handed by the 
servants ; but the guests enter separately, 
instead of arm in arm. 

At a large lunch-party either one long 
table, or several little ones, may be used. 
If the latter method is preferred, take care 
that the servants have ample room to pass 
between them. Each plate should have be¬ 
side it two knives, two forks, one or two 
spoons, and a water-goblet. 

The first course should consist of fruit 
or of raw oysters, or of bouillon or chicken 
consomme, served in cups set on plates, and 
provided with teaspoons. 

This course is followed by an entree, 
chops with one or two vegetables, game or 
chicken, and salad, with sweets, candies, 
fruits, etc. Black coffee is usually served 
after luncheon. 

In an informal lunch, if the hostess pre¬ 
fers, the sweets may be placed on the table 
in advance ; but vegetables must be served 
from the side-board, and the chops, cold 
meats, etc., should be served by the hostess. 
Yet at such luncheons vegetables are fre¬ 
quently omitted, and in the selection of 
dishes the greatest latitude of choice is per¬ 
missible. Among those most frequently 
served may be named oysters, croquettes, 
French chops, cold meats, beefsteak, fish, 
omelettes and salads. 

At formal luncheons a bouquet for each 
lady is sometimes provided, they being 


grouped as an ornament in the centre of the 
table, and distributed after the meal. The 
custom is a pretty one, and worth encour¬ 
aging. Occasionally, also, some pretty 
trifle is given to each guest as a memento 
of the occasion, but there is no obligation 
for this to be done. 

Guests should be punctual in attendance 
on such an occasion, or send word promptly 
if prevented, by some sudden occurrence, 
from coming. Either a white or figured 
table-cloth may be used, but it must be one 
that will wash. 

These are rules which etiquette and good 
breeding demand shall be observed, not 
alone at luncheon, but at all meals. The 
table is the social centre, and it is essential 
that those who gather around it shall con¬ 
form themselves to the most approved rules 
of good society. A knowledge of table eti¬ 
quette is very desirable to possess, since 
many regard it as one of the surest tests of 
good breeding. It is at the dinner table, 
however, that strict rules of observance be¬ 
come indispensible. There is much more 
freedom allowable at the earlier meals of the 
day, and a digest of table rules may be left 
till we come to speak of the principal meal. 

It may be said, however, in regard to 
conversation at the lunch table, that both 
etiquette and good breeding forbid indul¬ 
gence in gossip, particularly in any sense 
ill-natured, and nothing can be more ill-bred 
than to make, after the meal, carping criti¬ 
cisms on the hostess and the entertainment 
she has provided. 

Teas and Afternoon Receptions. 

These are among the most informal en¬ 
tertainments given, and the difference be¬ 
tween a large afternoon tea and an afternoon 
reception is little more than the name, 
though the latter is perhaps a shade more 
formal. They frequently take place at 
the same hour, and the character of the 
invitations and entertainments differ very 
little. 

The day and hour of an afternoon tea 
may be written on a visiting card. For an 
afternoon reception, an “ At Home ” card is 
used. No answer need be sent to such an 
invitation, unless one is particularly re¬ 
quested, which is not ordinarily the rule. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


369 


It is necessary to speak to the host and 
hostess immediately upon entering the room, 
but owing to the constantly moving crowd 
it is not essential that guests should again 
address the host and hostess when they are 
about to leave. 

The length of stay can vary from five 
minutes to an hour at an afternoon recep¬ 
tion, but at an evening reception the time is 
usually more extended. 

Only simple refreshments should be 
served at an afternoon tea. Thin slices of 
bread and butter, sandwiches, fancy biscuit 
or cake, tea, coffee, or chocolate, ice cream, 
and bouillon are offered. Punch and lemon¬ 
ade—but no wine of any kind—may be 
added if desired ; and also salted almonds, 
cakes, candies, and other dainty trifles. 
English breakfast tea is now preferred, 
served with cream and white sugar, or 
slices of lemon for those who like tea made 
in the Russian style. 

At an afternoon reception the table may 
be supplied with oyster-salads, pates, boned 
turkey, ice cream, coffee, and bonbons. 

For a reception music is desirable, as it 
adds greater brilliancy to the entertainment. 

The hostess should shake hands with 
her guests and receive them cordially ; any 
formality is out of place on an informal 
occasion. 

If the number of guests is small, the 
hostess should walk about the room, talking 
with her visitors ; if large, she should re¬ 
main near the door, and have the aid of 
other ladies, who should entertain the 
guests, ask them to take refreshments, and 
make introductions when necessary. 

At a large and elegant afternoon recep¬ 
tion the windows may be darkened, the gas 
lighted, and musicians employed, if the 
hostess desires. 

What is known as a high tea is a meal 
taking the place of a dinner, at which hot 
meats, cakes, warm breads, preserves and 
other sweets are served. Such teas are more 
popular in the country than in town. 

At the informal tea, of which it is the 
custom to partake at about five o’clock 
in many households, a tray is brought in to 
the mistress of the house, and placed before 
her on a small table. This tray should con¬ 
tain a tea-service, cups, saucers, etc. The 
24 H h 


lady herself makes the tea, pours it out, and 
passes it to the members of the family or the 
visitors w .10 may chance to be present. The 
servant brings in thin slices of bread and 
butter, cake, and, perhaps, English muffins, 
which are usually served with the cup of tea 
at this hour. 

Suppers. 

Supper, as a rule, is similar to dinner, 
and unless served at a ball or as a part of 
some other entertainment has very much 
the character of that meal. After the theatre 
or opera, people frequently indulge in some 
refreshment which may or may not be dig¬ 
nified by the name of supper. 

Picnics. 

If one person gives a picnic he must 
provide everything, the modes of convey¬ 
ance to the place selected, the refreshments, 
entertainment, etc., but if several join in 
this the labor and expense should be equally 
divided. 

The refreshments should consist chiefly 
of cold dishes, such as meats, boned turkey, 
sandwiches, salads, cakes, jellies, pies, etc., 
with lemonade, or such other drinks as may 
seem desirable. Hot dishes are sometimes 
served, prepared at a neighboring house. 

Picnics are often so arranged that each 
lady attending furnishes a dish of some 
kind. In this way all the refreshments can 
be provided without any difficulty. 

Sometimes a wooden platform is erected, 
and dancing is the chief amusement after 
eating. 

A picnic generally lasts from about noon 
until twilight, and the best season of the 
year for such an entertainment is when it is 
pleasant to be out of doors. 

Sufficient china, glass, etc., should al¬ 
ways be provided, though they should be of 
a plain and inexpensive kind, for fear of 
breakage. 

Theatre Parties. 

A dinner, either at home or at a restau¬ 
rant, is frequently followed by a visit to the 
theatre or the opera. In such a case it is 
proper for the one who gives the theatre 
party to invite an equal number of ladies 
and gentlemen, a proper chaperon, of course. 


37 ° 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


being provided. If the party are to dine 
together before going to the play, half-past 
six is usually the hour appointed, whether 
the dinner is to take place in a private house 
or in a restaurant. If there is to be no din¬ 
ner, some house is selected where the guests 
assemble at a proper hour to reach the 
theatre in time. 

It is customary, when you invite married 
people or gentlemen to the opera, to send 
them their tickets so that they may join you 
at the opera house, unless for some reason 
you wish to go with them. Unmarried ladies 
are usually asked to dine by their friends 
and go with them from their home. Sup¬ 
pers are rarely given after the opera, owing 
to the lateness of the hour. If the party 
did not dine together, however, it is custo¬ 
mary for the host or hostess to give the 
guests a supper somewhere after the play. 

It is the duty of the chaperon to see the 
unmarried ladies safely home. 

Chaperons. 

The word chaperon is French, and signi¬ 
fies a married lady, or one of sufficient age 
and dignity to accompany an unmarried 
one with propriety to any reputable enter¬ 
tainment. 

Her services may be called upon, not 


alone for theatres, operas, concerts, balls, 
or other evening entertainments, but are de¬ 
manded on many occasions during the day. 
No party of any kind which includes both 
sexes should be formed unless some married 
lady has charge of it. 

The greatest courtesy and deference to a 
chaperon should always be manifested by 
the young ladies and gentlemen under her 
charge. Indifferent civility in this respect 
is the height of ill-breeding. 

When an older lady passes a younger 
one in a ball-room and bows, the younger 
one should never remain seated when re^ 
turning such a mark of recognition. 

In leaving a room simultaneously, 
younger and unmarried ladies should always 
stand aside until the older or married ones 
have passed out. 

The chaperon should behave with 
dignity, while being as genial and agree¬ 
able to the younger members of her party 
as possible. She should see that the un¬ 
married ladies she has charge of reacn 
home safely, and never leave them to a 
chance escort, no matter how tired sire m»y 
be. One can never be too sure but chat 
young girls may be exposed to unpleasant 
situations, if left without a compamou of 
judgment and experience 


VII. BANQUETS AND DINNERS 


The formal dinner is one of the most im¬ 
portant occasions in social life, the test to 
which the degree of acquaintance of anyone 
with the customs of good society is often 
put, the trial scene of good breeding and 
familiarity with polite observance. The 
rules to be observed at table are so many 
and minute that they require careful study, 
and many who pass muster on less formal 
occasions, may sadly err in some of the in- 
dispensible details of the etiquette of the table. 

In ordinary, informal dinners, indeed, 
this strictness of observance is not de¬ 
manded, and much more freedom is per¬ 
missible, the home feeling here taking the 
place of ceremonious rules. Yet even here 
it is important to avoid falling into too great 
a latitude of action, since habits formed at 
home are very apt to accompany one 
abroad. 


Choosing 3uests- 

In giving a dinner party, the first ,md 
often the most important question is ; whom 
to invite. How many to invite follows as a 
problem of little less importance. For r 
pleasant dinner the number should oe smaii 
rather than large, eight or ten being a fair 
average. An even number seems prefer- 
. able, though this is not a matter of essential 
consideration. 

Of course, large dinners are often a 
necessity, when given for business, family, 
or other reasons ; and when display is the 
leading motive in giving the dinner, the 
number may be as great as the resources ol 
the establishment will permit. But if com¬ 
fort and the pleasure of social intercourse 
are the objects proposed, the number will 
need to be limited. 


37 * 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


As to who should be invited, we have 
here a question that has sadly troubled many 
generations of hosts and hostesses. To 
bring together an incongruous mass -of 
people is simply to invite failure. Guests 
should be selected with strict attention to a 
sense of fitness ; and equal attention should 
be given to placing those of similar tastes 
together at table. The ease of conversation 
and the enjoyment of the dinner depend 
largely on this. Clever conversationalists 
are always most desirable guests. These 
are not always to be had, but even a single 
fluent talker often acts as a leaven that will 
rouse to speech a whole company of ordi¬ 
narily quiet people. The invitation should 
be sent a week or two before the time fixed, 
or as much as three weeks if the affair is to 
be one of great formality. 

Duties of the Hostess. 

A dinner party is regarded by man}*- per¬ 
sons as the most formal and, at the same 
time, the most elegant mode of entertaining 
guests—it is certainly the one which most 
severely taxes the resources of the hostess. 
Any woman not positively ill-bred can fill 
the position of hostess at a ball; but it re¬ 
quires tact, readiness, and a thorough knowl¬ 
edge of society to make a dinner party, in 
the ordinary parlance, “gooff well.” No 
matter how exquisite the china, glass, floral 
decorations, silver, and linen may be, if the 
hostess is a dull or awkward woman, the 
banquet will not be a success, for a proper 
selection of guests and the power of drawing 
them into gay and brilliant conversation are 
quite as needful as any of the material 
accessories. 

The hostess should call into requisition 
all her tact and knowledge of society to set 
her guests at ease. No accident must dis¬ 
turb her. If her rarest china or most preci¬ 
ous bit of glass is broken, she must appear 
not to notice it. If any one has had the 
misfortune to arrive late, she must welcome 
him or her cordially, though her duties to 
her other guests have not permitted her to 
wait in the drawing-room more than the fif¬ 
teen minutes permitted by etiquette to the 
tardy. She must think only of encouraging 
the timid, inducing the taciturn to talk, and 
enabling all to contribute their best conver¬ 


sational powers to the general fund of enter¬ 
tainment. The same rules, of course, apply 
to the host. 

The arrangements for dinner should be 
much the same whether the party be large 
or small, though, of course, the larger num¬ 
ber will require a few extra servants, and 
may render advisable some extra courses. 
It should be remembered, however, by 
givers of dinners that too many courses are 
objectionable, and that in the best society of 
to-day fewer dishes are offered than was for¬ 
merly the custom. 

The hour for dinner should be fixed 
to suit the convenience of the guests and 
will vary in city and country. In the city 
it should be no earlier than seven nor later 
than eight o’clock, and the probability must 
be borne in mind that the guests will not all 
assemble till at least fifteen minutes after the 
hour named in the invitations. Tardiness 
of this kind was formerly considered rude, 
but has now become so common as to be 
expected and allowed for. 

Arranging the Table. 

In the centre of the table should be either 
a vase of flowers or a dish of fruit. Ferns 
make a very attractive effect. There should 
be small dishes of candies, figs, prunes, 
crystallized ginger, etc. Olives or radishes, 
salted almonds, etc., should beset in pretty 
little dishes on the table. These, with the 
silver, glass carafes of water, and wine de¬ 
canters, complete the decoration of the table. 

Everything else should be served from 
the side-table, and passed to each guest. 
This saves great confusion, and contributes 
more than anything else to the comfort of 
the meal. It is important also to have 
warm food served on hot plates. Cold 
plates will spoil the best dinner ever 
cooked. 

The table cloth should be of the finest 
quality; and it is well for those whose 
means do not permit them to follow fash¬ 
ion’s every caprice, to remember that fine 
white table linen is always in place. If 
colored materials are used, the latest edict 
of fashion forbids the employment of any 
stuffs that will not wash. 

Decorations should always be arranged 
so that they will not prevent the guests 


372 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


from seeing one another. The preference 
is now for low dishes of flowers of delicate 
perfume. Those of strong fragrance should 
be avoided, as in a warm room their odor 
may become oppressive. 

An ostentatious display of flowers, plate, 
or ornaments of any kind is not in the best 
taste ; nothing being more vulgar than a 
seeming desire to impress your friends with 
a show of wealth. 

Placing the Table=Ware. 

On the right of the space left for the 
plate place two knives and a spoon. The 
present mode is to use silver knives as well 
as forks for fish, and in that case this knife 
'S placed with the others. On the left three 
jorks—that for sweets smaller than the 
others. At times other knives, forks, and 
spoons are provided, but it is better to bring 
these in as needed for the separate courses, 

The glasses are placed on the right. 
These should be at least four in number. 
As it is a great breach of decorum, as well 
as a sign of ignorance, to drink one sort of 
wine from a glass intended for another, we 
shall describe the glasses commonly in use. 
The tall glass, or that with the shallow, 
saucer-like top, is for champagne ; the green 
for hock, chablis and similar wines ; the 
large, ample glass for claret and burgundy ; 
the round, full-shaped glass for port, and 
the smaller glass for sherry. 

It must not be understood, however, 
that wines are essential to a high-toned 
dinner. Some of our very best families, the 
acknowledged leaders of fashion, never put 
champagne or any other kind of wine on 
their tables. 

Each guest must be provided with a 
table-napkin, which, in laying the table, 
should occupy the place reserved for the 
plate. 

There are many different and various 
ingenious ways of treating the dinner-nap¬ 
kin. The simplest is to leave it in the folds 
in which it comes from the laundress. 

Bread should be cut in thin slices, and 
laid on a napkin at the left of each plate. 

The room may be lighted with either 
white or colored candles or lamp. Many 
persons prefer to have the light fall in part 
from side brackets or sconces on the wall, 


Dress. 

As regards dress for a dinner party, it 
must be governed in great measure by the 
character of the dinner, whether friendly 
and informal, or an occasion of leading im¬ 
portance and marked formality. For the 
latter, lady and gentleman alike should 
dress as elaborately as for a ball, though 
ball dress and dinner dress should by no 
means be the same. The occasions differ 
widely, and the fitness of things needs to be 
strictly observed. 

As to the character of the lady’s dress, 
that must depend on her own taste. It will 
suffice to state here that full dress is re¬ 
quisite and that jewerly may be freely worn. 
For an ordinary, small dinner, however, a 
much less elaborate toilette is sufficient, and 
may prove more comfortable. 

The gentleman will wear the ordinary 
evening dress already described. He may 
wear more jewelry than is in good taste 
earlier in the day. 

Entering the Dining Room. 

If the dinner is to be a large and formal 
one, a gentleman should receive an envelope 
before entering the drawing-room in which 
is a card bearing the name of the lady he is 
desired to take in to dinner. If he does not 
know the lady he should ask the hostess to 
present him to her. At small and informal 
dinners this is not necessary, the hostess 
simply mentioning to the gentleman the 
name of the lady he is wished to escort to 
the table. In fact, though still in use, the 
custom above named is going out of fashion, 
an assignment in the drawing-room being 
considered sufficient. 

A card is generally laid at each place, 
giving the name of the guest who is to oc¬ 
cupy it. This custom is also unnecessary 
at a small dinner. Menus, or bills of fare, 
are often placed before the guests at large 
dinners, but rarely at small ones. 

When the guests have all arrived and 
the dinner is ready, the butler or waitress 
should enter the drawing-room and politely 
say to the lady of the house, “ Dinner is 
served ’ ’ ; then he or she should return to 
the dining-room and stand behind the 
hostess until she is seated. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


373 


The gentleman of the house must offer 
his right arm to the lady who has been 
selected as the important guest of the even¬ 
ing, and then proceed to the table, placing 
her on his right, he generally taking the 
lower end of the table. The other guests 
follow, each gentleman with the lady selected 
for him ; and finally the hostess enters with 
the gentleman whom she wishes to honor, 
he taking a seat at her right. 

The remaining guests, in case their seats 
are not indicated by cards, will take the 
seats assigned to them by the host or hostess. 
In case no assignment is made, it should be 
remembered that questions of precedence, 
formerly so much considered, are growing 
to be of minor importance, particularly in 
this country. 

Every place at a friend’s table is equally 
a place of honor, and should be equally 
agreeable, so that, in the best circles, it is 
becoming the custom for the guests to sit in 
the order in which they enter the room. A 
little care should, however, be taken that a 
judicious distribution of the guests, accord¬ 
ing to their tastes, accomplishments, terms 
of intimacy, etc., is secured. Ladies sit on 
the right of gentlemen. 

As soon as seated all the guests remove 
their gloves, and, taking the napkins from 
the table, open them and spread them on 
their knees. The napkin is not to be tucked 
into the waistcoat or pinned on to the front 
of the dress. It will usually contain a roll; 
that is placed on the left side of the plate. 

The Dinner. 

It is not easy to lay down any fixed rule 
for the character of the dinner. That must 
be governed by the season and the taste and 
resources of the host. However humble 
the pretensions of the dinner, it should 
never consist of less than three courses, 
namely, soup or fish, a j oint (which, in a small 
dinner, may be accompanied by poultry or 
game) and pastry. Cheese with salad fol¬ 
lows as a matter of course. Dessert succeeds. 

The number of servants necessary will 
depend, of course, on the number of guests. 
Three will be enough for a party of ten or 
twelve persons. On their training and effi¬ 
cient service the success of the dinner will 
largely depend. 


What is above said about courses applies, 
of course, to a very simple meal. In those 
of more pretension the courses may vary 
considerably in number and character, 
though custom lays down certain fixed rules 
for the succession of viands. For an ordi¬ 
nary dinner the following will suffice as an 
example. 

Dinner Courses. 

The dinner may begin with oysters on 
the half shell, five or six for each person. 
If not the season for oysters, small clams 
are frequently served in the same way. 
These should be very cold, and the clams 
are better if surrounded by cracked ice. A 
piece of lemon should be in the centre of 
each plate, and pepper and salt be passed 
with this course. 

Soup follows. Either one or two may 
be served—a white and a clear, or a white 
and a brown soup ; but never serve two 
kinds one after the other. 

Follow the soup with fish. At the best 
tables you will find a silver fish-knife as well 
as fork ; if not, eat with a fork in the right 
hand and a small piece of bread in the left. 

When there are two kinds of fish, the 
larger one—say the turbot—is placed before 
the host; the lady taking that which is less 
calculated to fatigue in the helping. When 
fish sauce is handed, put it on the side of 
your plate. There are certain sauces appro¬ 
priate to each kind of fish—as lobster sauce 
with turbot, shrimp or caper with salmon, 
oyster with cod, and so on. 

The e?itrees follow, being ordinarily 
served in covered silver side-dishes. They 
consist of sweetbreads, pates , cutlets, and 
made-dishes generally. It is not customary 
to do more than taste one or two of these. 
Too much attention to them is apt to unfit 
one for enjoying the rest of the dinner. In 
eating of these dishes the fork alone, where 
possible, should be used. 

The meats and vegetables follow. Some 
vegetables, such as asparagus, sweet corn, 
or maccaroni, can be offered by themselves ; 
but hostesses should beware of making the 
meal tiresome by a needless number of 
courses. 

It is not allowable, however, to serve 
more than two vegetables with one course, 


374 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


nor to offer anything except potatoes or 
potato salad with the fish. 

The roast meats are placed about the 
table in this way: The largest and most 
important, say haunch of venison, before 
the host; one before the lady of the house, 
and such dishes as tongue or ham before 
particular guests, who occupy seats at points 
where carving-knives and forks are placed in 
readiness. 

Carving is an important accomplishment, 
and one that every gentleman should seek 
to acquire. A man should be able to carve 
a joint or a bird easily and dexterously, but 
facility can only be acquired by practice, 
which it is important to have. It is cus¬ 
tomary, however, to have the joint carved 
off the table, put back as before carving, 
and served. 

It is hardly necessary to say that knife 
and fork are used in the eating of meat, 
poultry, or game ; and it seems equally un¬ 
necessary to say that the purpose of the 
knife is simply to cut the food. Under no 
circumstances must it be used to convey it 
to the mouth. Vegetables are eaten with a 
fork. A spoon is rarely necessary, and a 
knife comes into use only in such cases as 
cutting oft' the heads of asparagus and the 
like. 

If considered desirable, a course of vege¬ 
tables may follow that of meat,—asparagus, 
cauliflower, artichokes, baked tomatoes, or 
some similar dish being served. 

Game follows. Salad may be served 
either with the game or as a separate course. 
In the latter case serve with it cheese and 
bread and butter. The bread can be cut 
very thin and carefully buttered, or the 
butter and bread can be served separately. 
If preferred, the cheese can be served as a 
separate course. 

Follow the cheese and salad with the 
sweet dishes and ices, then serve the fruit, 
and lastly the bonbons. Coffee may be 
served in the drawing-room, when the 
courses have not occupied too much time, 
or at the table, according to the preference 
of the hostess. 

Black coffee, which should be made very 
strong and clear, must be served in very 
small cups, with tiny coffee-spoons. 


After the Courses. 

Everything except the lights and orna¬ 
ments should be removed from the table 
before the dessert is served, the crumbs being 
brushed off with a crumb-scraper or a nap¬ 
kin, a clean one of course. 

Finger bowls, set on handsome china or 
glass plates, with a fruit napkin or embroid¬ 
ered doily between, should be placed on the 
table for the fruit course. The dainty em¬ 
broidered doilies, however, must never be 
used, and substantial fruit napkins should 
be supplied when any fruits that stain badly 
are served. 

Where there is more than one servant, a 
second waiter carrying the proper vegetables 
should follow the first, who passes the meat 
or fish. The lady next the host should first 
be helped, and the others in turn, after 
which the gentlemen should be served. 
But when there is only one servant, the 
guests may be helped in the order in which 
they sit, beginning with the lady at the 
host’s right, then passing to the one at his 
left, leaving the host himself to be served last. 

When the servants have placed the des¬ 
sert on the table and have handed the fruit 
and sweets once round, they retire. Any 
further service which the ladies may require 
can be given by the gentlemen, who will, of 
course, exert themselves to see that their 
neighbors are properly attended to. 

Retiring from the Table. 

Then the hostess bows to the lady of most 
distinction present, and all the ladies rise and 
prepare to retire. The gentleman nearest 
the door opens it, and holds it open for them. 
The hostess is the last to go out. While 
they are going all the gentlemen rise, and 
remain standing until they are gone. It 
would not, however, be a violation of eti- 
, quette for the gentlemen to accompany the 
ladies to the drawing-room at once, and 
what is here said applies principally to for¬ 
mal dinners, and to families in which the 
gentlemen are accustomed to conclude the 
meal with cigars and wine. 

Tea and coffee are dispensed by the lady 
of the house in the drawing-room. This is 
her special province. It should be accom¬ 
panied by a few wafers ; a plate of very thin 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


375 


rolled bread-and-butter and a few biscuits 
of the lightest description may be added. 
One cup of tea or coffee only should be 
taken ; and certainly no one can need to be 
told that it must not be poured into the 
saucer to cool. It will be handed round 
the room by the servants. 

In the drawing-room there should be a 
little music to give relief to the conversa¬ 
tion. 

At a plain family dinner, at which one 
or two guests are present, more devolves on 
the host and hostess, and less on the servants. 

General Hints. 

You should sit at a convenient distance 
from the table, and sit upright. Do not 
lean back, or tilt your chair, or stoop for¬ 
ward towards the table. 

When grace is said at the table, observe 
the most respectful attention, reverently in¬ 
clining the head. 

Do not be impatient to be served. 
Should you need anything at the hands of 
the servants, do not order them to serve 
you, but request them politely, in a low, 
distinct tone, adding, “ if you please.” In 
declining a viand offered by them, say, 
“ Not any, I thank you,” etc. 

Do not hesitate to take the last piece of 
bread or cake in a dish handed to you. 
Your host has more for other guests. When 
a plate containing food is handed to you, 
set it down before you, and do not pass it to 
your neighbor. 

Wines. 

As regards the use of wines at dinner, 
the following rules will suffice. They 
should be served in the following succession. 

First. —Sherry, which must be very 
cold and decantered. This to be passed with 
the soup. If a white wine is to be served, it 
should be given with the oysters and also 
very cold. This must not be decantered. 

Second. —Champagne, which should be 
packed in ice several hours before it is to be 
used. Serve it in the bottle with a napkin 
held round it to absorb the moisture. 
Champagne is passed with the meat. 

Third. —Claret, which must be decant¬ 
ered and warm, and served with the game 
and salad. 


Fourth. —Madeira, also decantered but 
of its natural temperature, and passed with 
the dessert. 

Mineral waters, such as apollinaris, can 
be passed at dinner, 'as some prefer a min¬ 
eral to natural water. As has been already 
said, a glass suitable for each variety of 
wine is placed on the table. This is not the 
case with the Madeira glasses, which are 
kept on a side-table, and brought to the 
table after the glasses previously used have 
been removed and before sweets are served. 

After dinner, when the ladies have left 
the room and the gentlemen are preparing 
to smoke, coffee, without milk, is served 
and carried to the ladies in whichever room 
they may be. 

It may be said in conclusion that the 
custom of wine drinking during dinner, and 
of drinking and smoking afterwards, is no 
longer of so ordinary application as former¬ 
ly. While still generally retained in the 
case of large and formal dinners, it is fre¬ 
quently omitted in small, and commonly in 
family dinners, being considered by many a 
custom ‘ ‘ better kept in the breach than the 
observance.” 

Dinners at Restaurants. 

When a dinner is given at a public 
restaurant, a table can be reserved in the 
public dining-room, ora private room can 
be engaged. It is usual to order the dinner 
beforehand, so that there will be no needless 
delay in serving it when the guests arrive. 

If a lady gives the dinner it is better for the 
guests to meet at her house, so that they may 
all go together to the restaurant, but if an 
unmarried gentleman is the host he must 
appoint an hour for the party to meet him 
in the vestibule of the restaurant, and the 
lady who has consented to chaperon his din¬ 
ner must be there very punctually, in order 
to spare any unmarried lady the annoyance 
of arriving alone at a public place. 

The style of the dinner must rest with 
the taste of the host or hostess, but it should 
resemble as nearly as possible a dinner in a 
private house, both in table appointments, 
variety of dishes, service, etc. 

It is perfectly admissible for an unmar¬ 
ried lady to dine at a restaurant, provided 
that she is properly chaperoned . 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


o/ u 

Lunches and breakfasts are, under the 
above circumstances, governed by the same 
rules as those given in regard to dinners. 

Ladies may lunch or breakfast without 
gentlemen in respectable public restaurants, 
but two ladies should if possible be together, 
rather than that one should lunch or break¬ 
fast alone. 

Of course, no one needs to imagine that 
in entertaining a few friends at dinner all 
this ceremony is indispensible. It belongs 
to occasions where formality and close at¬ 
tention to fixed social rules are considered 
neccessary, but there is an agreeable form 
of informal dinner which calls for no man¬ 
ual of observance, in which the friends are 
taken into the bosom of the family and the 


ease of unfettered home intercourse prevails. 
For such dinners there are no set rules ; 
every community, every family, make their 
own laws, and calmly ignore or simply 
laugh at the dictates of fashion. Here soup 
maybe omitted, if not cared for ; you may 
pass up your plate to your host tor a slice 
of beef; you may do a dozen things that are 
quite out of order where formality prevails, 
and be as heedless and happy as you please. 
But all this is behind closed doors; when 
you fall under fashion’s eagle eye no such 
looseness is for a moment to be considered ; 
you must eat and drink to rule and measure 
or consider yourself a candidate for banish¬ 
ment. 


VIII. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE 


Preceding the marriage comes the court¬ 
ship, an event which, since the world began, 
has been one of vital interest to man and 
woman, but which is so varied in its inci¬ 
dents and characteristics that no set rules of 
etiquette can be made to apply to it. It 
may suffice to say that when a gentleman 
feels such admiration for a lady as to induce 
him to make a proposal of marriage to her, 
it is the more manly and courageous way to 
do so verbally instead of in writing. During 
courtship anything that offends good taste, 
or is conspicuous in the conduct of a be¬ 
trothed pair, should be sedulously avoided, 
—such as making public each other’s senti¬ 
ments. These concern the pair alone ; they 
lack interest for the public at large, and eti¬ 
quette demands that they should be kept 
secret. 

A sufficient public announcement of the 
engagement is made by the ring, which it is 
usual for the gentleman to give the lady, as 
a token of the new relation existing between 
them. This may be a diamond solitaire, if 
the means of the gentleman will permit. ' 
Otherwise, a plain gold band is in order. It 
must be worn on the third finger of the left 
hand. 

When the engagement is once formally 
made, it may be made known by the young 
lady or her mother to relatives and intimate 
friends. Good form, however, requires that. 
the gentleman should gain the consent of 


the guardian or parents of the lady before 
making his proposal to herself. This is 
particularly important if he is in moderate 
circumstances and she wealthy. 

The length of the engagement must de¬ 
pend largely upon the wishes of the parties 
most particularly concerned. Of late years 
it has become the fashion to shorten the 
time, and unless the marriage is likely to 
take,, place within six months it is better 
to make no public announcement of the en¬ 
gagement. 

Hasty marriages, on short acquaintance, 
are in all cases to be avoided. The loving 
pair should grow to know each other well 
and intimately before courtship is allowed to 
pass its preliminary stage of attractive ac~ 
quaintance ; and many an unhappy mar¬ 
riage has come from undue haste in thi? 
particular, ardent fancy being permitted to 
take the place of cool reflection and growing 
knowledge. 

There is a delight in courtship, more¬ 
over, which is often unwisely abridged by 
too quick a marriage. In the words of one 
wise maiden, who was asked why she did 
not marry when she had so many lovers, 

‘ ‘ Being courted is too great a luxury to be 
spoiled by marrying.” But all this is mat¬ 
ter for which it is useless to attempt to lay 
down rules. Men and maidens have fol¬ 
lowed their own inclinations in regard to .he 
length of the period of courtship since 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


377 


civilization began, and will probably con¬ 
tinue to do so. 

It is only when the engagement has been 
made and formally announced that etiquette 
can have anything to do with the matter. 
A couple once betrothed, and the betrothal 
made public, have placed themselves, in a 
measure, in the hands of society, and must 
yield in some degree to social obligations, if 
they wish to avoid invidious comment. 

Wedding Preliminaries. 

After the wedding day is fixed the hap¬ 
py couple are especially obliged to con¬ 
form to the rules of etiquette, there being 
fixed laws laid down for every detail of the 
subsequent ceremonies. One thing should 
be borne in mind, that the wedding belongs 
to the family of the bride. It is their affair 
to send the invitations, provide the music, 
the decorations, the wedding breakfast, etc.; 
the duties of the groom being restricted to 
providing the certificate, naming the clergy¬ 
man, and a few others. The announcement 
of the engagement is generally followed by 
a dinner given by the parents of the bride, 
to which some of the relatives of both fami¬ 
lies are invited. Subsequent dinners are apt 
to be given by relatives and intimate friends 
of the engaged couple. 

The gentleman’s parents, relatives, or 
friends call as speedily as possible upon the 
young lady and her parents or guardians. 
The selection of the wedding day is usually 
left to the choice of the bride elect and her 
mother, and to their taste are similarly left 
such details of the occasion as the arrange¬ 
ment for the wedding, the character of the 
trousseau, or bridal outfit, the breakfast or 
reception, the choice of bridesmaids, the 
style of the ceremony, etc. 

Any time of the year may be regarded 
as suitable for a wedding to take place, 
though certain periods, such as Easter week, 
are often preferred. In Europe there is a 
strange prejudice against the month of May. 
As regards the day of the week, Wednesday 
or Thursday are apt to be selected ; while 
Friday is looked upon as unlucky. In this 
country Friday holds the same doubtful 
position, but any other day of the week, and 
any month of the year, are quite in order. 


Marriage is regulated in this country by 
the laws of the State, a license being re¬ 
quired in some States, and not in others. 
This the intending husband should procure, 
he being accompanied by the father, guar¬ 
dian, or near relative of the lady, that the 
requisite information required by the law 
may be given. 

The bridal trousseau does not include 
plate, china, furniture, or any household 
ware, but is restricted to the bride’s attire, 
of which sufficient is usually provided to 
last during the first few years of wedded 
life. Too great a quantity of wearing ap¬ 
parel is to be avoided, whatever the wealth 
of the bride or her family, since the rapid 
changes in fashion are likely to make some 
of it useless before it can be worn. The 
extent and character of the trousseau, of 
course, must be governed by the means and 
taste of the bride and her family. 

Bridal Gifts. 

The custom of presenting gifts to the 
bride has grown until it has become much 
of a burden and something of a farce, from 
the absolute uselessness of many of the arti¬ 
cles sent and the annoying duplication that is 
likely to take place. In eveiy case the presents 
should be in accordance with the means and 
probable style of living of the recipients, 
and as far as possible in harmony with their 
tastes and surroundings. Nothing is more 
ill-advised than to send some gorgeous orna¬ 
ment for a plain, simply furnished house. 
Simple, tasteful selections, however, are 
rarely out of place, and there is a wide 
choice of articles which every family can 
use. The variety is endless, ranging from 
the costliest silver and jewels, clocks, lamps, 
fans, odd bits of furniture, camel’s hair 
shawls, etc., down to a pretty vase, a bit ot 
embroidery, a picture, or a piece of china 
painted by the hand of a friend. No one 
should hesitate to send a present whose 
money value is small, such gifts are often 
the most welcome, and a present which 
owes its existence to the donor’s own labor 
is regarded as especially flattering. 

Gifts are usually packed where they are 
bought, and sent directly from the shop to 
the bride’s house. They should be sent 
during the week preceding the wedding, and 


3/<* 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


not less than two days before the event. It 
is so customary to make an exhibition of 
the presents on the day of the wedding or 
the preceding day, that it is very necessary 
that they should arrive in good time. 

The display of the wedding presents is a 
point to be decided according to the bride’s 
wishes. Some people think it ostentatious, 
others devote much time and care to their 
arrangement, and it is undoubtedly gratify¬ 
ing to many to be permitted to see them. 

One rule, however, is hivariable —thebride 
must acknowledge every gift by a personal 
note. It must be borne in mind that the 
gifts are hers, her own private property, 
which she can claim from the hands of the 
sheriff, if misfortune supervenes, and leave 
by will to w r hom she elects. Of course, 
gifts may be sent specially intended for the 
groom. 

If people do not know what to send, or 
what the young couple require, they should 
take some means to discover, for nothing is 
more annoying than to receive duplicate 
presents. It is not uncommon for soup- 
ladles, butter-knives, tea-urns, and other 
articles of table use or house-ornament to 
be given so profusely that the young couple 
are almost as well fixed to set up a store as 
to begin housekeeping. 

It is customary for the gentleman to 
make his bride a present of jewelry to be 
worn at her wedding, where his means will 
permit him to do so. If a wealthy man, he 
often presents the bridesmaids with a sou¬ 
venir of the occasion, a fan, bracelet, ring, 
or bouquet. He buys the wedding ring and 
furnishes the bride’s bouquet; but there his 
privilege or duty ends. The bride’s family 
supply the cards, carriages, and wedding 
entertainment. 

Flowers. 

The bride’s bouquet should be composed 
exclusively of white flowers, such as gard¬ 
enias, white azaleas, or camellias, with a 
little orange blossom intertwined. It is the 
privilege of the groomsman to procure and 
present this to the bride. 

It is generally considered a delicate at¬ 
tention on the part of the bridegroom to 
present a bouquet to his future mother-in- 
law. This may be composed of choice vari¬ 


ously colored flowers, whilst those of the 
bridesmaids should be white, with an edging 
of pale blush roses. These also are pre¬ 
sented by the groom. 

To save trouble and anxiety with regard 
to bouquets, it is the best plan to order them 
from some practical florist. He will know 
exactly what to send, and will deliver them 
fresh on the day of the marriage. 

The Bridesmaids. 

The bridesmaids are usually selected 
from among the sisters of the bride, or her 
cousins or friends. The head-bridesmaid is 
ordinarily her most intimate friend. Oc¬ 
casionally the sisters of the bridegroom as¬ 
sist as bridesmaids, but the bride’s own 
sisters should always be given the prefer¬ 
ence. 

The number of the bridesmaids, of 
course, must be governed by circumstances. 
Six is a usual number, though more are 
frequently selected. An even number must 
always be chosen. 

The dress of the bridemaids is usually of 
some light white material. They frequently 
wear wreaths and veils, but of a lighter and 
less costly character than those of the bride. 
Bonnets are often worn instead of veils. It 
is desirable for them all to be dressed as 
nearly alike as possible. 

In this country the bridesmaids either 
provide their own dresses or may accept 
them from the bride. 

The Groomsmen. 

The number of groomsmen must corres¬ 
pond to that of the bridesmaids. These 
gentlemen have little to do, with the ex¬ 
ception of the first or principal grooms¬ 
man, who is charged by the bridegroom 
with the management of the whole affair, 
and should be furnished by him with money 
to pay all the expenses. He is usually his 
brother or most intimate friend. 

Where a ring is used he should take 
charge of it, and present it to the bride¬ 
groom at the proper moment. He must 
hand the minister his fee, and pay the sex¬ 
ton and other persons entitled to payment 
their legitimate charges. 

It is his duty to undertake all the ar¬ 
rangements for his friend on the eventful 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


37 9 


day, and to see that they are properly car¬ 
ried out. 

The dress of the groomsmen should be 
similar to that of the bridegroom, the dress 
worn being that suitable to the hour of the 
day, in the same fashion as for any other 
entertainment. They should be dressed as 
nearly alike as possible. 

The Bride. 

After the wedding invitations are issued 
the bride does not ordinarily appear in pub¬ 
lic. On the morning of the wedding day 
she usually breakfasts in her own room, and 
remains there till the hour arrives to dress 
for the ceremony. It is the privilege of the 
bridesmaids to perform this service. 

The bride’s costume is, as a rule, of 
white, either silk or satin, or of material in 
accordance with the means of the parties. 
A bridal veil of lace or of tulle is usually 
worn. The gloves, of course, should be 
white, and the shoes of white kid 
or white satin. It is customary for 
the bride to make some slight presents 
to the bridemaids on the morning of the 
marriage. These should be simple, it be¬ 
ing borne in mind that the gift is merely to 
serve as a memento of the occasion, and 
that no article of much value is demanded. 

After dressing, the bride remains in her 
room until the carriage is announced, or the 
time has arrived to descend to the drawing 
room if it is to bg a home wedding. The 
bride’s carriage is the last to leave the 
house. It should contain but one occupant 
besides herself—her father, or the person 
selected to give her away at the altar. 

The Ceremony. 

The ushers are selected by the gentle¬ 
man, though the lady is generally consulted 
in the choice. Six is the number ordinarily 
chosen, and their duties are to show people to 
seats in the church, and to present the guests 
to the bride and groom at the wedding recep¬ 
tion. They, and the groomsmen as well, 
should all wear boutonnieres , or button-hole 
bouquets, made of some handsome white 
flowers. 

The bridal procession is formed by the 
ushers, who walk first two and two, fol¬ 
lowed by the bridesmaids, also two and two ; 


then the child-bridesmaids, if this pretty 
custom is adopted, and then the bride, lean¬ 
ing on her father’s right arm. Sometimes 
the children lead the others. At the altar 
the ushers separate, moving to the right and 
left, the bridesmaids do the same, thus leav¬ 
ing room for the bridal pair. 

Upon the entrance of the bridal party 
within the doors of the church, the organist 
will play a “ Wedding March,” and as they 
take their places at the altar will change 
this to some low, subdued, but sweet and 
appropriate melody, which he should con¬ 
tinue with taste and feeling throughout the 
service. As the bridal party leave the church, 
the music should be loud and jubilant. 

The front pews in the church should be 
reserved for the families and especial friends 
of the happy pair. These are generally 
separated from the others by a white ribbon 
drawn across the aisle. 

The wedding party should stand accord¬ 
ing to the positions decided upon by the 
wishes of the bride and groom. Usually 
the bride takes her place upon the left of 
the groom, her father stands a little in ad¬ 
vance of the rest, behind the couple, and her 
mother just in the rear of her father. The 
bridesmaids group themselves on the left of 
the bride, the groomsmen on the right of 
the bridegroom, all in the rear of the prin¬ 
cipals. 

The clergyman, who should be already 
in his place, at once begins the marriage 
ceremony. 

When a ring is used, to avoid the long 
delay of drawing off the glove, brides now 
cut the finger of the one on the left hand, so 
that it can be slipped aside to allow the 
putting on of the ring ; this is the routine al¬ 
most in variably followed at church weddings. 

The responses of the bride and bride¬ 
groom to the clergyman should be given 
clearly and distinctly, but not in too loud a 
tone. On the conclusion of the ceremony 
the newly-married couple and their attend¬ 
ants withdraw in much the same manner as 
on advancing, the bride now taking her 
husband’s left arm. 

The Wedding Breakfast. 

The English fashion of a wedding-break - 
fast is now often followed in this country, 


3 So 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


the guests being specially invited a fortnight 
in advance. On such an occasion the gen¬ 
tlemen, on reaching the house, leave their 
hats in the hall; but the ladies do not re¬ 
move their bonnets. 

In going to the table, the bride and 
groom precede, then the bride’s father with 
the groom’s mother, the groom’s father with 
the bride’s mother, the best man with the 
first bridesmaid, the other bridesmaids with 
gentlemen selected as their escorts, and 
finally the remaining guests. The dishes 
usually provided are bouillon, salad, birds, 
oysters, ices, jellies, etc. 

The health of the bride and groom is 
proposed, usually by the groom’s father, 
and response is made by the father of the 
bride. The health of the bridesmaids may 
also be proposed ; but the occasion is ordi¬ 
narily more pleasurable if strict formality is 
dispensed with. 

After remaining for an hour or two with 
the guests, the bride retires to change her 
wedding dress for a traveling costume. 
She is met by the groom in the hall, the 
necessary good wishes and kisses are ex¬ 
changed, and the pair drive away, often fol¬ 
lowed by a shower of rice and slippers. 

As regards the desideratum of wedding 
cake, it is no longer the fashion to send it; 
but small boxes of it, neatly tied with white 
ribbon, are prepared, of which each guest may 
take one upon leaving the house, if desired. 

What is above said relates to the mar¬ 
riage of a maiden. In the case of the mar¬ 
riage of a widow certain changes in dress 
and ceremony are requisite. A widow must 
never be attended by bridesmaids, nor must 
she wear a veil or orange blossoms ; the 
proper dress at church is a colored silk and 
bonnet, pearl gray or some other delicate 
shade being preferable, though she is privi¬ 
leged to wear white if she desires. She 
should be accompanied by her father, 
brother, or some near friend. 

A House Wedding. 

A fashionable wedding at home calls 
into requisition the services of both florist 
and caterer; the former to decorate the 
rooms, the latter to furnish the marriage 
feast. A variety of floral devices may be 
employed, from the marriage bell and mono¬ 


gram to a bower of ferns large enough to 
receive the bride and bridegroom. 

The part of the room to be occupied by 
the bridal party should be marked off by a 
white ribbon. After the clergyman has 
taken his place, the bride and groom enter 
together, followed by the mother, father, 
and other friends. Hassocks should be 
ready for the bridal pair to kneel upon, in 
case this is deemed necessary as a part of 
the ceremony. 

Where money is lacking to defray the 
charges of florist and caterer, or in country 
localities where their assistance cannot be 
had, the loving hands of friends may decor¬ 
ate the rooms with foliage and blossoms, 
and the table be supplied with simple dishes 
such as the household means can furnish. 
Wedding-cake, light cakes, ices, and coffee 
arranged on a table prettily ornamented with 
flowers is a sufficient entertainment at a 
quiet home-wedding, and, let it be added, is 
in far better taste than a more ostentatious 
display which is beyond the means of the 
family, and leaves a burden of debt behind. 

In fashionable circles, after the return of 
the bridal party the members of both fami¬ 
lies give a dinner in their honor, and the 
bridesmaids, if able to do so, give then? 
some entertainment. 

Brides sometimes announce, when send¬ 
ing out their wedding-cards, two or more 
reception days ; but they do not wear their 
wedding-dresses, though their toilettes may 
be as handsome as they desire. When in¬ 
vited to balls or dinners, however, the wed¬ 
ding-dress is perfectly appropriate for a 
bride to wear—of course without the wreath 
and veil. 

Sending Cards. 

In some circles the young couple send 
out cards with their wedding invitations, 
stating the day and hour they will receive 
callers after their return from their wedding 
tour. No one who has not received such 
a card should call upon a newly married 
couple. Such cards should be as simple 
and unostentatious as possible. Where 
they are sent out, the wedding journey must 
be terminated in time to allow the new 
couple to be at home at the time indicated 
for the reception of their visitors. 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


381 


Visitors should call punctually at the 
time appointed. In some places it is cus¬ 
tomary to offer the guests wedding-cake and 

IX. FUNERAL 

The great sorrow brought upon a family 
by the death of one of its members often 
renders the immediate relatives incapable of 
properly attending to the arrangements nec¬ 
essary for the funeral. The services of a 
near friend or a relative, therefore, are often 
availed of, he being informed of the wishes 
of the family, and relieving them of all fur¬ 
ther care, by himself taking charge of every¬ 
thing needing to be attended to. 

The ladies of the family, before the 
funeral, see none except intimate friends, 
and may with propriety deny themselves 
even to those. 

Immediately after a death the relatives 
and intimate friends of the deceased should 
receive some notification of it. An under¬ 
taker must also at once be summoned, and 
the arrangements and details of the funeral 
be left to him. Notices should be inserted 
in one or more of the daily papers of the 
time and place of the funeral services, etc. 

In some parts of the country it is custom¬ 
ary to send notes of invitation to the funeral 
to the friends of the deceased and of the 
family. These invitations should be printed, 
neatly and simply, on mourning paper, with 
envelopes to match, and should be delivered 
by a private messenger, where convenient. 

A written notification, however, is fre¬ 
quently sent where only a few are to be 
specially invited, the newspaper announce¬ 
ment being trusted to inform those less 
closely connected. 

The expense of a funeral should be in 
accordance with the means of the family. 
It is a foolish form of pride and ostentation 
that induces the members of a family to load 
themselves unnecessarily with debt in order 
to make a showy funeral display. All 
marks of respect should be shown to the 
dead, but undue expense is more indicative 
of a desire on the part of the living to im¬ 
press their friends and neighbors than a 
genuine desire to do honor to the one who 
has passed away. 


wine. The mother, sister, or some intimate 
friend of the bride must assist her in receiv¬ 
ing these calls. This rule is imperative. 

ETIQUETTE. 

Where invitations are sent out, a list of 
persons invited must be given to the person 
in charge of the funeral, in order that he 
may provide a sufficient number of carria¬ 
ges. Those invited should not permit any¬ 
thing but an important duty to prevent 
their attendance. 

The House Services. 

When the funeral is at the house, some 
near relative or intimate friend should act 
as usher, and show the company to their 
seats. 

A decorous silence should be preserved 
in the chamber of death, no one speaking 
except in low, subdued tones. The mem¬ 
bers of the family are not obliged to recog¬ 
nize their acquaintances. The latter show 
their sympathy by their presence and con¬ 
siderate silence. 

The coffin, if in good taste, will never 
be unduly elaborate or over ornamented. 
A black cloth casket, with plain silver 
mountings, is preferable to any other. 

The clergyman usually stands in a posi¬ 
tion as nearly as possible midway between 
the family and assembled friends, so that his 
words may be heard by all. The family re¬ 
main seated together, usually in some room 
upstairs, and never appear until it becomes 
necessary to enter the carriages. If the 
funeral be in church, they occupy the front 
pews, the intimate friends sitting immediate¬ 
ly behind them. 

Six or eight of the most intimate male 
friends of the person who has died are in¬ 
vited by the family to act as pall-bearers. 
On the day of the funeral they assemble at 
the house, and the undertaker provides each 
of them with black gloves and a mourner’s 
scarf. They walk with their heads uncov¬ 
ered beside the coffin, up the aisle, if the 
services be held in church, and also escort 
the body to the grave. They usually sit in 
one of the front pews, reserved for their use, 
while the funeral services are being con¬ 
ducted. 


382 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


Flowers. 

With regard to sending flowers, the 
wishes of the family should be considered. 
If you are uncertain upon this point, it is 
safe to send them. They should be simple 
and tasteful, also in keeping with the age of 
the person who has been removed by death. 

As the sending of elaborate floral designs 
has been much overdone of recent years, it 
is becoming frequently the custom not to 
send flowers to houses of mourning, and in 
many funeral notices a request is made to 
this effect. Whatever flowers are received 
are usually placed upon the coffin during 
the services, and afterwards carried to the 
cemetery to be laid on or a few laid in the 
grave. 

In preparing the body for the grave, the 
usual custom is to dress it in the garments 
worn in life; but young people are fre¬ 
quently laid out in white robes. 

It is optional with the ladies of the fam¬ 
ily to attend the remains to the last resting 
place or not, as they may prefer. And of 
recent years the invitation is generally to 
the house only, notification being given 
that the funeral will be private. This is a 
judicious innovation, in the direction of 
economy and the avoidance of ostentatious 
display, and it is one that is likely to grow 
among people of taste and judgment. 

After the funeral, only the members of 
the family return to the house, except in the 
case of friends or relatives from distant 
cities, and a widow or mother may properly 
refuse to see any others than her nearest 
relatives for several weeks. 

Mourning. 

The length of time for wearing mourning 
has greatly decreased during the past five 
years, as formerly there was such an exag¬ 
geration of this that sometimes the young 
people in a family were kept in constant 
black, owing to the death of successive 
relatives. 

For deep mourning, black stuff dresses, 
heavily trimmed with black crape, and long 
crape veils, are worn. During the second 
period the crape is left off, and plain black 
alone is used ; and for half-mourning light 
black, black silks, black and white, or cos¬ 
tumes of mauve or grey, can be worn. 


For gentlemen, at first plain black che¬ 
viot suits, with broad crape «bands on their 
hats, and black gloves. For the second 
period they cease to wear black clothes, 
varying these by dark suits of black and 
grey, and the width of the crape hat-band 
is narrowed. For half-mourning the black 
hat-band is the one emblem of grief retained. 

A widow should wear deep mourning 
for twelve months, plain black for the 
second year, and half-mourning for six 
months. 

For parent, brother, or sister, the usual 
time of wearing mourning is one year ; for a 
young child, six months; for an infant, 
three months. 

There is much difference of opinion in 
regard to the wearing of mourning dresses, 
many objecting to doing so for what they 
consider excellent reasons. In truth, the 
mourning attire aids to keep up the feeling 
of grief, and to depress where some means of 
enlivening the feelings is desirable. Yet it 
serves as a protection to those whose deep 
sense of loss induces them to avoid many 
social duties, and who would escape from 
thoughtless and painful allusions. It is a 
matter, in short, that must be governed by 
the feelings and sentiments of those directly 
concerned. 

During the first period of mourning it is 
not considered becoming to visit places of 
amusement or to enter social life or indulge in 
gaiety of any kind. After a certain time 
elapses—six months or a year, according to 
the depth of the mourning—a person is at 
liberty to go out quietly to concerts, theatres, 
informal dinners, etc. 

It is customary to send a few words of 
sympathy to the family after a death has 
taken place. Such letters should be brief 
and written with real interest and affection, 
otherwise they had better be omitted. 

During a period of mourning, note paper 
and visiting cards are usually edged with a 
black border, the width of this to be deter¬ 
mined by the depth and recency of the 
mourning. The very wide band is exagger¬ 
ated, ostentatious, and in bad form. 

No invitations of any kind should be left 
at a house of mourning, until after a lapse 
of a month or more, according to circum¬ 
stances. Then, cards to balls, weddings, 


DOOk' OF ETIQUETTE 


383 

and general entertainments may properly be should leave cards with all their friends and 
sent. When persons who have worn black acquaintances, either in person or by send- 
are ready to resume their social life, they ing them through the mail. 

X. ANNIVERSARY AND OTHER OCCASIONS 


Among the festivities which society pro¬ 
vides for its enjoyment, that of the anniver¬ 
sary wedding has of late years come greatly 
into vogue. It is a pleasant custom, and has 
been gradually extended until numerous 
anniversaries of the wedding day, differ¬ 
ently named, are celebrated with appropri¬ 
ate ceremonies. Beginning with the silver 
and golden wedding, on respectively the 
twenty-fifth and the fiftieth anniversaries, 
there have been gradually added various 
others, such as the wooden wedding on the 
fifth, the tin wedding on the tenth, the 
crystal wedding on the fifteenth, the linen 
or china wedding on the twentieth, and, as 
an occasion of exceedingly rare occurance, 
the diamond wedding on the -seventy-fifth 
anniversary of the marriage. 

This is not the whole list, much ingenuity 
having been exercised in adding to the fre¬ 
quency and diversity of these anniversaries, 
and to those named may be added the iron 
wedding, celebrated after one year of mar¬ 
ried life ; the paper wedding, on the second 
anniversary ; the leather, on the third ; the 
straw, on the fourth; the wooden, on the 
seventh ; the ivory, on the thirtieth ; the 
coral, on the thirty-fifth ; the woolen, on the 
fortieth ; and the bronze, on the forty-fifth. 
It is now a common custom, however, to 
overlook all the anniversaries preceding the 
silver wedding. 

Gifts and Invitations. 

A leading feature on these occasions is 
the sending of gifts, which are expected to 
be made of the material which gives the 
name to the wedding, and much ingenuity 
is exercised in selecting or inventing suit¬ 
able presents, those of an amusing kind 
being often a leading feature. 

Invitations to any of these occasions 
should be appropriate in design. For in¬ 
stance, the straw wedding cards may be 
printed on straw-colored stationery, the ivory 
wedding cards on ivory, and the bronze 
wedding cards in a similar way. For the 


silver wedding the cards may be printed in 
letters of silver, and in golden letters for 
the golden anniversary. 

An appropriate form of invitation, say 
for a silver wedding, will be as follows : 

1870. Mr. and Mrs. Brown 1895. 

Request the pleasure of your company , 

On Monday , June the Ninths 
At eight o' clock P.M. } 

Silver Wedding. 

William Brown. Susan Campbell. 

Many persons omit the names at the end, 
and in some cases an exact copy of the mar¬ 
riage notice, taken from the newspapers of 
the wedding period, is made to serve the 
purpose. A second form is here appended : 

1850. 1900- 

Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilson, 

At Home, 

May fourth, 1900, 
at eight o'clock P.M ., 

Golden Wedding. 

The entertainment may be similar to 
that supplied at any reception, with the ad¬ 
dition of a large wedding-cake, containing a 
ring, which the bride cuts just as she did 
twenty-five years before. 

As to character of the gifts, there is 
abundant scope for selection, with the gen¬ 
eral remembrance that they should be in 
consonance with the name of the anniver¬ 
sary. In the case of a wooden wedding, for 
instance, there is an opportunity for the be¬ 
stowal of beautiful gifts in wood-carving, 
handsome pieces of furniture and picture 
frames, as well as the regulation wooden 
rollers, chopping trays, etc., for the kitchen. 
Bits of birch-bark are frequently used for 
the invitations. 

Tin weddings have become occasions of 
special liveliness, and much ingenuity is 
exercised in devising amusing gifts. One 
young wife received from her father-in-law 
a check, marked “tin,” enclosed in an 
elaborate tin pocket-book. The tin utensils 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


384 


used in the kitchen and household furnish 
an abundant variety for choice. Tin fun¬ 
nels holding bouquets of flowers and tied 
with ribbons are usually numerous, and the 
glittering metal, adorned with bows of rib¬ 
bon of every hue, is very effective when d;s- 
played on a table. The invitation is usually 
printed on a bit of tin. 

On the fifteenth anniversary, or crystal 
wedding, the invitations are frequently crys- 
talized, while the gifts may embrace every 
variety of glassware. The linen wedding is 
more rarely celebrated, many persons con¬ 
sidering it unlucky. The Scotch have a 
superstition that if any allusion is made to 
this anniversary, one or other of the married 
couple will die within the year. 

The silver wedding is usually a joyous 
occasion. The bride and groom are still in 
the prime of life, their children are of the 
age for a full enjoyment of festivity, and 
their circle of friends is likely to be complete. 

Those who receive invitations usually 
send some present composed of silver, which 
may be as trivial or as costly as the donor 
chooses. They are generally marked “ Sil¬ 
ver Wedding,” or bear some appropriate 
motto with the initials of the couple en¬ 
closed in a true lover’s knot. The variety 
of articles is almost endless,—silver clocks, 
photograph frames, belt-clasps, mirrors, 
brushes and combs, and other toilet articles 
set in solid silver, and the long array of 
table-ware. 

The golden wedding is a much less fre¬ 
quent occasion, and far less likely to be a 
joyous one. Age has crept upon the prin¬ 
cipals, and is creeping upon their children 
and friends, life has grown sober, and its 
pathway is apt to be strewn with many som¬ 
bre memories. 

As articles of gold are apt to be more 
expensive than many of those invited care 
to give, flowers are frequently made to do 
duty in their place—preferably yellow ones. 
As for the diamond wedding, the seventy- 
fifth anniversary, it is so rare an occasion 
that no description of it is necessary. Of 
course, it calls for presents of jewelry, 
though, as in the case of the golden wed¬ 
ding, guests may replace them with some¬ 
thing less expensive and more appropriate 
to the age of the married pair. 


Christenings. 

Another occasion incident to married 
life, is the christening, which next demands 
consideration at our hands. 

When children are to be christened at 
home, it is rapidly becoming the custom to 
celebrate such events by giving some sort of 
a social entertainment, the size or arrange¬ 
ment of which depends upon the taste and 
circumstances of the parents. If many are 
to be present, the invitations should be sent 
out formally, as though for an afternoon re¬ 
ception. The usual hours selected are from 
4 until 6 p.m. Upon a small table a silver 
or china bowl should be placed, which is 
used as a font. Flowers in abundance are 
never in bad taste at a christening. 

After the clergyman has performed the 
baptism, a beverage called “caudle” is 
served in cups to the guests. 

Recipe for making Candle .—This should 
be made of fine, smooth oatmeal gruel, fla¬ 
vored with wine or rum, lemon peel or nut¬ 
meg, and sugar added according to taste. 
Of course, in the case of a church christen¬ 
ing no house-entertainment is called for, 
and a family party is all that is likely to 
come together. 

Private Theatricals. 

The private theatrical provides an ente r - 
tainment which is daily growing in popular 
ity both in England and our own country 
Sometimes a stage is erected in a private 
house, but more frequently small theatres 
are engaged, where the performance takes 
place. » 

Instruction, or “ coaching,” is as a rule 
given to the amateur performers by some 
professional manager, actor, or actress en¬ 
gaged for the occasion, and is essential if 
any satisfactory entertainment is hoped for. 
Rehearsals are equally necessary and must 
be frequent to insure success. 

For tableaux it is better to have the 
advice and taste of some clever artist, as the 
beauty and interest of the human pictures 
depend so largely upon the posing and 
drapery of the figures, to say nothing of the 
effect of the lights and the choice of colors. 

Entertainments of these kinds may take 
a considerable variety of forms, and are 
very pleasant breaks in the monotony of 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


3&5 


party giving and the other set affairs of 
ordinary life. The time spent in prepara¬ 
tion, however, is likely to be considerable, 
and the result is often more farcical than the 
performers intend or understand. 

Etiquette for General Occasions. 

There are, or should be’, rules of eti¬ 
quette applicable to every situation, the 
home circle, the street, the store, the travel¬ 
ing conveyance, and in short for all the 
occasions in which men and women are 
brought together. These consist mainly in 
observing the ordinary requisites of polite¬ 
ness, the avoidance of rude or selfish behav¬ 
ior, and of any actions likely to hurt the 
feelings or offend the tastes of those with 
whom chance or social relations bring us 
into contact. It is not sufficient for the 
demands of society that we are morally cor¬ 
rect ; correctness in deportment is no less 
important, and there are numbers of small 
observances required from any one who 
wishes to keep on the correct side of the line 
which divides good manners from ignorant 
or boorish behavior- 

Etiquette of the Household. 

First among these requisites comes the 
etiquette of the home circle, in which the 
principle of politeness and courtesy are 
often laid aside as a consequence of care¬ 
less habits and selfish egotism. Good man¬ 
ners are too often a cloak which is flung 
aside like a needless burden as soon as the 
home threshold is crossed, yet there is no 
place where kindness and thoughtfulness 
should be considered as more important, 
and in which neglect of the small courtesies 
of life are so likely to wound or distress. 

Certainly the true gentleman or lady will 
endeavor to be as courteous and considerate 
in the family circle as among strangers, and 
equally avoid impatient and cutting remarks 
or lack of polite attention. Some few re¬ 
marks on the rules of propriety fcr the 
home will not come amiss. 

The house should be kept in as good 
order for the comfort of the family as when 
strangers are expected, and the members of 
the household should be careful to act in 
drawing-room or at table as if a guest were 
present. Formality, indeed, is not called 
25 H h 


for, but ease of manner does not imply 
rudeness, and politeness should never be 
laid aside. 

Only a few leading suggestions can be 
here given. These will suggest others to 
all who attend to them. First, it is import¬ 
ant to make special efforts to be punctual at 
meal time. Nothing interferes with the regu¬ 
lar movements of the household, or disturbs 
the equanimity of the hostess, more than 
carelessness or irregularity in this respect. 
To have to keep food warm for the late 
comer, or perhaps to cook it afresh, is a need¬ 
less waste of time and labor, and is apt to 
add to the household expenses. 

Do not fail to rise and offer a chair on 
the entrance of an older person, or at all 
events an infirm person, to the room in 
which you are seated, and never precede an 
older person in entering or leaving a room, or 
in ascending stairs. Do not permit children 
to occupy the pleasantest seats, to the depri¬ 
vation of their elders, or to be annoyingly 
intrusive when older persons are engaged in 
conversation. The “children’s hour” 
should not be permitted to encroach upon 
that of their elders. Never enter any per¬ 
son’s room without knocking. 

Be careful to give any one who desires 
to read full access to the light. Avoid mak¬ 
ing unnecessary noise on coming home late 
at night, and in this way disturbing the re¬ 
pose of the household. Gentlemen who are 
in the habit of smoking at home should 
confine their devotions of the cigar to a single 
room, and avoid careless distribution of ashes 
or matches on floors or tables. 

If callers are likely to drop in to meals, 
it is advisable to have a seat at the table re¬ 
served ; and a room should also be set aside, 
where possible, for chance visiting friends. 
In every case a welcome should be ready, 
and every indication of being discommoded 
be sedulously avoided. 

As regards the intercourse of the immedi¬ 
ate members of the household, it will suffice 
to say that, while formality can well be laid 
aside, politeness and courtesy should never 
be forgotten. 

Table Manners. 

In conclusion a few rules of importance 
in table manners, familiar to most, but too 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


386 


often carelessly ignored, may be given. The 
napkin should be spread over the knees, 
not fastened at the neck or tucked into a 
button hole. It should be folded after using, 
if the hostess folds hers. 

The fork should be held in the palm of 
the left hand. If in the right, it should be 
used with the prongs upward, and held be¬ 
tween fingers and thumb. 

Avoid bending over the plate, drooping 
the head too low, thrusting the elbows out, 
or sitting with the back turned toward the 
person in the next chair. 

Be careful not to take large mouthfuls 
nor to eat too hastily or heartily. 

Never hesitate to take the last piece of 
bread that may be offered. A refusal to do 
so would be a reflection upon the hostess, 
suggesting that she had not provided fully 
for her guests. 

In regard to rarer dishes, however, it is 
wise to show no inclination for more, if the 
supply on the table seems small. 

Never play with napkin ring, fork, or 
other article, and keep the hands off the 
table when not employed. Never leave the 
table till the meal is over, and avoid reading 
newspapers, books, etc., at table unless alone. 

Never use a spoon to eat vegetables. A 
fork is the proper thing. Never take butter 
from the dish with your own knife, or use 
it except on your own plate. It is scarcely 
necessary again to give warning against 
putting the knife in the mouth. Yet this 
unpardonable breach of table etiquette is 
often committed by persons whose training 
should have taught them better. 

The table should be a centre of cheerful 
and enlivening conversation, and too close 
attention to the duty of eating should be 
avoided, alike from reasons having to do 
with healthy digestion, and the desirability 
of every one striving to bear a part in the en¬ 
tertainment of the family circle. The table 
is the one place where all the family meet at 
leisure, and where they should seek to make 
themselves agreeable. 

Etiquette of the Street. 

Courtesy requires the return of all civil 
greetings—those of servants included. 
Only the most serious causes can justify 
“a cut.” 


In bowing, the head should be bent; a 
mere lowering of the eye-lids, affected by 
some people, is rude. Etiquette does not per¬ 
mit a familiar nod, except between business 
men or very intimate friends. In passing and 
repassing on a public promenade or drive, 
bows need to be exchanged only at the first 
meeting. In carrying canes, umbrellas, and 
packages, care should be taken not to dis¬ 
commode passers with them. This is par¬ 
ticularly needed in the case of raised um¬ 
brellas, which are often carried with care¬ 
less disregard of the convenience of others. 
This is one annoying way in which selfish¬ 
ness is shown. 

At a street crossing it is the duty of 
gentlemen to make way for ladies, and 
younger for older persons. In walking or 
driving, the rule to keep to the right will 
enable all to avoid danger of collision. 

A gentleman should always offer his 
arm to a lady in the evening. In the day 
this is only in order in case of the pavement 
being slippery, there being a crowd, or the 
lady being old or needing support. If there 
are two ladies, he should offer his arm to 
one, and let the other walk beside her. 

5 n the Electric Car. 

If a gentleman desires to offer his seat 
to a lady, he should not beckon to her, but 
rise and offer it to her courteously. It is 
the duty of the lady, in accepting the seat, 
to acknowledge his courteous attention by 
a bow and an audible expression of thanks. 
On the other hand it is an indication of ill- 
breeding to show signs of displeasure if, on 
entering a crowded car, no seat is offered. 
It should be borne in mind that the gentle¬ 
man has a right to his seat, and is under no 
obligation, except that of politeness, to give 
it up, and weariness or weakness may render 
it inadvisable for him to rise. No lady, if 
young or strong, will expect or permit an 
old gentleman to relinquish to her his seat. 
If, however, a lady is ill or greatly fatigued 
she should not hesitate to request a seat, 
giving her reasons for doing so. No gentle¬ 
man, and few who are not gentlemen, would 
refuse such a request. 

No gentleman will take a vacant seat 
while ladies are standing, and none should 
stand on the car platform in such a manner 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


33 7 


as to discommode alighting passengers. It is 
easy and courteous to move aside, and step 
down into the street if necessary. If baskets 
or bundles are brought into the car care 
should be taken not to let them annoy 
passengers. 

Etiquette of Business. 

Never forget that time is precious to 
some persons, though you may be ready to 
waste it; also that money is necessary, and 
that it is every one’s duty to settle all debts 
as promptly as possible. 

Never fail to have all the details of an 
agreement decided so far as they can be 
before the transaction is concluded, and 
bear in mind that a contract can be broken 
only by the consent of all the parties con¬ 
cerned. 

Never keep washer-women, seamstresses, 
nor any one dependent upon daily labor 
waiting for payment, and, 011 the other hand, 
when requesting payment of a debt, avoid 
any unpleasantness of tone or manner. 

Never buy on credit, if cash can be had. 
This is a rule of common sense and practi¬ 
cal economy. 

Never forget that a character for fair 
dealing is a capital that cannot be lost. Do 
not think it unnecessary to learn the min¬ 
utest details of any business, nor imagine 
that success in any business can be attained 
without a thorough training for it. 

Never fail to be courteous in all busi¬ 
ness intercourse ; a pleasant manner will do 
much to insure success. 

Never insist on entering any business 
office, if told that its occupant is not at lei¬ 
sure. Courtesy requires that you should 
quietly await his leisure, or offer to call 
again if time will not permit you to wait. 

Etiquette of the Club. 

Doubtless, while there are few members 
of clubs who do not have a sufficient know¬ 
ledge of the rules of etiquette governing 
them, some may desire information on cer¬ 
tain points, and it is for the benefit of the 
latter that the following brief directions are 
given : 

All members should become familiar 
with the regulations, and rigidly obey them. 

You have a full right to vote against 


the admission to a small social club of any 
one whose society is not agreeable to you. 
It would destroy the pleasure of such a club 
if all its members were not congenial. Yet 
you should not allow personal prejudice to 
influence you in voting upon the admission 
of a new member of a large club. Is the 
gentleman’s record clear, and is he in all 
respects a worthy associate for gentlemen ? 
This is the only question to be asked. 

Never persistently propose for member¬ 
ship of a small club a name that has been 
refused. Avoid any conduct likely to be 
disagreeable or disobliging to fellow-mem¬ 
bers. A gentleman should be as courteous 
in a club-house as he would be in his own. 

Do not talk loudly in reading-rooms or 
library, and never misuse books, news¬ 
papers, nor other club property. 

It is selfish and impolite to monopolize 
the best arm-chair, to make a practice of 
dining early to secure an extra share of a 
favorite dish, or to require special attention 
from waiters to the discomfort of other 
guests. 

Avoid showing anger in political or re¬ 
ligious discussions, or making a personal 
matter of an argument. Do not seek to 
force your opinions on others against their 
will. 

Never mention the names of ladies in the 
club, or show idle curiosity about other 
members. 

Never send an employee out of the club¬ 
house on any private errand without first 
requesting permission of the clerk or super¬ 
intendent. 

If the guest of a club, do not take 
the liberty of introducing any one else ; but 
the guest of a club is expected to avail him¬ 
self of all the privileges of its members. 

When a gentleman is admitted to the 
privileges of a club through the courtesy of 
a member, he is expected, when his tempo¬ 
rary membership ceases, to pay any debts he 
may have incurred, for if he omits to do 
this his club-host is obliged to settle his 
account for him. 

Etiquette of Traveling. 

Ladies should wear neat traveling 
dresses of suitable material and simple style, 
display as little jewelry as possible, and 


388 


BOOK OF ETIOUETTE 


carry tlie smallest amount of baggage by 
hand. It is important to have the initials 
or full name on all trunks. 

Never attract attention by loud talking 
or laughing, and, if under the escort of a 
gentleman, do not annoy him with needless 
requests. Always repay a gentleman any 
traveling expenses, no matter how trivial. 

A lady when traveling alone, should, if 
possible, arrange to be met at the station by 
some friend. In arriving at a station in a 
large city where she is a stranger, she should 
avoid taking a hack, choosing instead horse- 
cars, or the stages plying between stations. 

While always acknowledging with 
thanks any courtesy offered, young ladies 
should avoid entering into unnecessary 
conversation with or accepting favors from 
men who are strangers. 

Older ladies are privileged to offer ad¬ 
vice or assistance, should occasion require, 
to young ladies traveling alone. 

It is courteous for a gentleman to offer 
to buy tickets, and check the baggage of a 
lady who is traveling under his care; but 
he should first take her to the ladies’ wait¬ 
ing room, not leave her standing on a 
crowded platform. He may also offer to 
get her refreshments, newspapers, or books, 
and—if the journey is a long one—invite 
her to walk up and down the platform at 
the stations. If, by any accident, the 
friends expected fail to meet a lady at the 
station, the gentleman escorting her should, 
if possible, go with her to her destination. 

A gentleman may offer to help a lady, 
even if she is a stranger, whenever she seems 
really in need of aid. For instance, if she 
is laden with many parcels, or has several 
children with her who must be transferred 
from boat to car, or station to station. 

Two gentlemen, strangers to each other, 
may talk together if agreeable to both ; but 
it is wise to discuss only general topics. 

Gentlemen may offer to open or shut a 
window for ladies ; but should never pre¬ 
sume upon a chance civility thus extended, 
by attempting to use it as a means of enter¬ 
ing into conversation with them. While 
not regarded by all persons as obligatory, 
it is always courteous for a gentleman to 
offer his seat to a lady who is standing in 
any public conyeyance. 


No gentleman should smoke in cars or 
other places when ladies are present, spit on 
the floors in cars or stations, be disobliging 
in a smoking-car by refusing to change his 
seat to accommodate a party who may de¬ 
sire to play some game, or accept a light, 
or any trifling civility, from a fellow passen¬ 
ger, without any expression of thanks. 

Before entering boat, train, or car, give 
the passengers who are in the act of leaving 
time to get off. Before taking a seat just 
vacated wait a sufficient time to see if its 
former occupant intends to return. 

It is ill-bred to complain about the tri¬ 
vial discomforts that fall to every traveler’s 
lot, and make uncomplimentary compari¬ 
sons between one’s own home and the place 
where one happens to be. 

Never occupy more than one seat in 
crowded conveyances, and if you have 
placed a parcel on a empty seat, cheerfully 
remove it whenever it is needed. Do not 
take the seat beside any person in a steam- 
car without asking if it is engaged. 

Never incommode fellow-travelers by 
opening a window which forces them to sit 
in a draught—it may be an affair of life and 
death to delicate persons. 

Table Etiquette for Children. 

It may not be out of place to add here 
a few good old rules for children’s behavior 
at table which can safely be followed : 

Give the child a seat that shall be strictly 
its own. 

Teach it to take its seat quietly. 

To use its napkin properly. 

To wait patiently to be served. 

To answer promptly. 

To say “ thank you.” 

If asked to leave the table for a forgot¬ 
ten article, or for any purpose, to do so at 
once. 

Never to interrupt and never to contra¬ 
dict. 

Never to make remarks about the food. 

Teach the child to keep his plate in 
order. 

Not to handle the bread nor to drop 
food on the cloth and floor. 

To always say “ excuse me, please,” to 
the mother when at home, and to the lady 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


or hostess when visiting, if leaving the 
table before the rest of the party. 

To fold its napkin and to put back its 
chair or push it close to the table before 
leaving. 


3 8 9 

And after leaving the table not to return, 
Children who observe every one of these 
rules are well-behaved, delightful com' 
panions, and owe it to their mothers’s care' 
ful training. 


XI. FORMS OF INVITATIONS 


XI. Forms of Invitations. 

In issuing invitations for any occasion, 
they should be sent out as nearly as possi¬ 
ble together, and in ample season. If they 
be for a large reception, dinner, or similar 
entertainment it is best to send them a week 
or two in advance; and for a ball, in the 
height of the season, two or three weeks. No 
one should be invited at the last moment, 
except it be an intimate friend, who can be 
trusted to excuse lack of ceremony. 

For large or formal occasions, such as 
dinners, balls and receptions, use plain 
cards, or note-paper, engraved in plain 
script. If the invitations be written, small 
white note-paper, of the best quality, should 
be used, and the writing done carefully, 
with proper attention to the arrangement of 
words. 

Invitations to Parties. 

The following will serve as a correct 
form for a note of invitation to a private 
party : 

Mrs. William H. Johnson 
requests the pleasure of 

Mr. and Mrs. James Browns' company 

0 ?i Thur sday evening , April eighth , 

, from nine to twelve o'clock. 

As an example of a suitable reply we 
give the following : 

Mr. and Mrs. James Brown have much 
pleasure in accepting Mrs. William II. John¬ 
son's kind invitation for Thursday evening , 
April eighth. 

Or, if circumstances render it necessary 
to decline, the cause of declination should 
be courteously stated, as follows: 

Mr. and Mrs. James Brown regret that 
a previous engagement to dine with Mrs. 
Rowland deprives them of the pleasure of ac¬ 
cepting Mrs. William Johnson's kind invita¬ 
tion for Thursday evening , April eighth . 


The reasons for declining may be very 
varied, but should be distinctly stated. ‘‘ A 
previous engagement ’ ’ has often to do duty 
in this case. 

A prompt reply must invariably be made 
by all who recognize the obligations of 
courtesy, and it may be well to give one or 
two examples of an uncivil manner of re¬ 
plying, into which well-meaning persons 
sometimes fall through ignorance or care¬ 
lessness : 

Mr. and Mrs. Brown regret that they can¬ 
not accept Mrs. William H. Johnson's invita¬ 
tion for Friday evening. 

A still ruder form is: Mr. and Airs. 
Brozvn decline Mrs. Johnson's invitation for 
Friday evening. 

It needs little knowledge of the laws of 
etiquette, however, to teach people not to 
commit such glaring incivilities as the 
latter. 

A simple form of invitation to an even¬ 
ing party is the following : 

Thursday, Mav seventh. 

Mrs. - requests the pleasure of Mr. 

- 's company at an Evening Party , Thurs¬ 
day , May twenty-eighth. 

An answer will oblige. 

Dancing. [Music, or any special attrac¬ 
tion] . 

The answer, which should be returned 
within a day or two, may be similarly brief: 

Mr. - has much pleasure in accepting 

Mrs. - 's polite invitation for Thursday 

evening , the twenty-eighth. 

Saturday , May ninth. 

Short or verbal invitations should never 
be given, even among relations and intimate 
friends. These are discourteous, as imply¬ 
ing that the persons invited are of no itn 
portance. 






390 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


Dinner Invitations. 

Dinner invitations are written or en¬ 
graved in the name of both husband and 
wife: 

Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilso7i 
request the pleasure of 
Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Clayton's company at 

dbiner 

November eighth, at seven o'clock. 

An acceptance should be worded as 
follows : 

Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Clayton 
accept, with pleasure, 

Mr. and Mrs. Henry Wilso?i's kind 
invitation to dine with them, 

07 i Monday, Nove77iber eighth, at se7>e7i o' clock. 

An invitation to dinner, once accepted, 
should be held as little less than a sacred 
obligation. Only disabling sickness or 
other extreme necessity should be permitted 
to stand in the way of its being kept ; and 
then, if time permits, immediate notice, 
with reason for same, should be given. A 
dinner party is carefully arranged for a set 
number, and one or more empty chairs are 
sure to disturb the completeness of the 
occasion, and cause heartburnings to host 
and hostess. A late invitation to fill the 
gap is usually sent, with proper explanation, 
to some friend who may be depended upon 
to overlook the informality. 

Invitations should be issued in the name 
of the hostess, except those to weddings and 
dinner parties. 

R. S. V. P., the initials of the French 
phrase “ Respo 7 idez, s'il vous plait," or 
“ Please reply,” may be written in the 
right-hand lower corner of an invitation if 
an answer is particularly needed. Its use, 
however, is becoming less frequent, since it 
tacitly implies that the recipient needs a 
reminder. In a dinner invitation it is 
especially unnecessary, since nothing can 
be more discourteous than to fail in an 
immediate answer. The day and hour 
named should be repeated in the answer, to 
avoid possible misunderstanding. If guests 
are asked to meet a distinguished gentle¬ 
man, or lady, this should be mentioned in 
the card of invitation, directly after the 
hour of dinner; for instance : 


At seve7i o'clock, to meet 
Mr. Jolm P. Wallace, 
of Londo 7 i. 

Or an extra card may be inserted with the 
regular invitation, saying, “ to meet Mr.—, ’■ 
etc. 

Here is an example of an invitation to a 
reception specially designed for this pur¬ 
pose : 

Mr. and Mrs. TJi 077 ias F. Jackso7i 
request the ho 7 ior of your presence 

on 

Tuesday evening, Novci7iber fiftee7ith, 
fro 77 i eight until eleve 7 i o' clock, 
to 77 ieet the 

Rev. Professor Patton 
of the 

University of Pc7i7isylva7iia, 

R. S. V. P. 119 Locust Avenue. 

Invitations to large entertainments, re¬ 
ceptions, etc., may be sent to persons in 
mourning if the bereavement has not oc¬ 
curred within a month ; but etiquette per¬ 
mits them to refuse without assigning a 
reason, sending, however, on the day of 
the entertainment, black-bordered visiting- 
cards, which announce the cause of their 
absence. Invitations to dinners and lunch¬ 
eons should never be given to persons in 
recent affliction. 

Always direct an answer to an invitation 
to the peison or persons who issue it, even 
though they may be strangers to you. 
Always answer an invitation to dinner or 
luncheon at 07 ice, accepting or refusing 
positively. The reason is obvious; the 
number of seats being limited, a prompt 
reply gives the entertainer an opportunity 
to supply your place. Should illness, a 
death in the family, or any other reason 
prevent the keeping of a dinner engage¬ 
ment, a letter or telegram should be imme¬ 
diately sent, stating the fact. All invita¬ 
tions, in fact, should be answered with as 
little delay as possible. 

When issuing invitations to a family, 
direct one to the husband and wife, one to 
the daughters, and one to the sons. The 
daughters’ names may be placed after the 
parents on the same card, but not the so 



BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


39* 


Notes of invitation to a gentleman should 
be addressed Mr. A. B. Cohen, never A. B. 
Cohen, Esq. Gentlemen must never be in¬ 
vited without their wives, nor ladies with- 
* out their husbands, unless to entertainments 
given exclusively to gentlemen or to ladies. 

Small Entertainments. 

Visiting-cards must not be used either 
to accept invitations or to regret the neces¬ 
sity of declining them, though invitations 
to small entertainments may with propriety 
be written on a lady’s visiting-card. 

A less formal mode of invitation to an 
evening reception may be the following: 

Mrs. Smith, 

At Home, 

Tuesday, May ninth, at nine o' clock, 84.9 
Green Street. 

If dancing, music, or other entertain¬ 
ment is provided, it can be mentioned in a 
word at the bottom of the invitation. 

We append below an invitation to a 
musical and card party, with acceptance 
of same : 

Hilton, January 1, 1902. 
Dear Mrs. Nutt ate : 

We purpose having a smallparty for music 
a?id cards next Thursday, and hope that you, 
yo?ir husband, and the dear girls will join us. 
If you can favor us with your company ,please 
ask the young ladies to bring their violins and 
music, and do not be later than eight o'clock. 

We unite in kindest love to you all. 

Believe me, most affectionately yours, 

Lois Markley. 

ACCEPTING. 

My Dear Mrs. Markley : 

We shall have much pleasure in accepting 
your kind invitation for Thursday next. 
Edith desires me to give you her love, and 
to say that she is delighted at the prospect of a 
musical evening; she will bring all your 
favorite selections, and do her best to play 
them. With our united regards, believe me, 

yours affectionately, 
SuSANA NuTTALL. 

“ The Willoivs," 

January twelfth , 1902 . 


Where there are several sisters in a 
family, addressed on an invitation as “ The 

Misses-,” it is usually understood that 

not more than two of them will avail them¬ 
selves of the invitation. 

Invitations for any general entertainment 
sent to a country house where guests are 
stopping, are, as a rule, addressed to “ Mr. 

and Mrs.-, and party,” this invitation 

being expected to include the sons and 
daughters of the family as well as the visit¬ 
ors. 

Form of English Invitations. 

The following is the style often used in 
England for invitations to garden parties, 
etc. : 

Mr. and Mrs. Jones 

request the pleasure of 
Mr. and Mrs. Bobinson’s 
company at a garden party on Tuesday, June 
ninth, at Jour o' clock. 

Collation at seven o'clock. 
Dancing 8 to 11. 

10 Corson Place. R. S. V. P. 

For afternoon teas, etc., the visiting-car^ 
of the hostess, with simply “Tea at four 
o’clock,” and the date in the left-hand cor¬ 
ner, is all that is necessary, or possibly “ At 
home from four until seven.” 

Wedding Invitations. 

Invitations to marriage ceremonies are 
issued in the name of the bride’s parents, 
or, if both are dead, in the name of a near 
relative or guardian. Paper without crest 
or monogram is considered the best to use 
so far as good taste is concerned. The ac¬ 
cepted form is as follows : 

Mr. and Mrs. Robinson 
request the pleasure (or honor) ojyour company 

at the marriage oj their daughter 
Mary Burd 
to 

Mr. James Howard Wilson, 
at St. James' Church, on Tuesday, June tenth, 
at twelve o' clock. 

Separate cards are sent if the wedding 
ceremony is to be followed by a reception at 
the parents’ residence, the formula used be¬ 
ing “ Mr. and Mrs. Smith at home, etc.” 




392 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


To avoid confusion at the church a small 
card is sometimes enclosed with the invita¬ 
tion, on which the name of the church and 
the hour for the ceremony are printed. 
Such cards must be presented at the door, in 
order that, to avoid a crowd, only such 
friends as have received invitations to the 
wedding may be comfortably seated. 

In case no reception is given, and the 
newly-married couple wish to announce to 
their friends their new abode, a card in the 
following form may accompany the invita¬ 
tion : 

At Homk 
Tuesdays in May. 

489 Green Street 
Philadelphia. 

In the case of house weddings, or when 
recent bereavements demand that the wed¬ 
ding shall be private, it is now customary 
to invite intimate friends by written invita¬ 
tions, and send simple announcements of 
the event to those not expected to be present. 
In such cases the stationery used should be 
of the same quality and style as for the 
invitations. The announcement may read 
as follows: 

Mr. and Mrs. Harvty Wellington 
Announce the Marriage 
of their Daughter 
Catharine 
to 

Mr. James Howard, 

Saturday, September ninth. 
Philadelphia, 

I 9 ° 3 ' 

An invitation to an anniversary wedding 
may be couched in the following form. If 
no presents are desired, the invitation should 
explicitly say so, otherwise it will be taken 
for granted that they will be acceptable : 

A 

1877 1902 

Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Lewis 
request yo u r presence 
at the 

Twenty-fifth Anniversary of their Wedding 

Wednesday Evening, March eighth, 

194 Lombard Avenue , 

New York . 


General Invitations. 

In addition to the forms of invitation to 
more or less formal occasions above given, 
notes inviting to various informal meetings 
may take forms familiar or the reverse, in 
accordance with the degree of intimacy of 
the parties. A few forms will suffice as ex¬ 
amples : 

New York, June 8, 1903. 
My dear Mr. Wilson : 

A few of 7ts are arranging for an 
excursion to Bolton Springs on the 13th hist. 
We should be very glad to have you as one of 
the party. We shall be three days absent 
from town. If you can make it convenient to 
accompany us, we are sure you can count on 
an enjoyable time. Be kind enough to let me 
know within a day or two, and believe me 

Sincerely yo urs, 

A. B. 

10 Brown Street, 

New York, December 18,1903. 
Dear Mr. Wilson : 

Can you make it convenient to run 
over to New York on Christmas day, and drop 
in on our smallfamily party f You can count 
on a hearty welcome, and a fair allowance of 
the enjoyments of the season. 

* Yours very truly, 

Henry Smith. 

As examples of more familiar notes of 
invitation, between intimate friends, the 
following will suffice : 

Dear Harry : 

Some of us are expecting to spend a few 
hours jovially, next Wednesday evening with 
a glass of wine and a cigar as enliveners. I 
hope you will make one of the party, and shall 
hold a chair for you. 

Yours as ever 

Will. 

Dear John : 

Our old friend Harvey Wilson has just 
got home from his Western trip. I have 
asked him and his cousin James to take a chop 
with me to-morrow at six p. m., a 7 id want 
you as a good fourth. Don't fail me. You 
know what a good fellow Wilson is. 

Yours faithfully, 

II. P. Jones. 


No presents , 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


393 


My Dear Mary : 

A few friends will be with us on Friday 


Invitation to a Carriage Ride. 


evening the 8th inst., to share a social cup of My dear Mils Barryf ’ ° Ct ° ber3 ' 1903 
tea a7id have an hour's chat. Can we count 
071 the pleasure of your compa7iy f 

f. S. White. 


My Dear fe7inie : 

Your kind request is at ha7id. I shall be 
glad to accept it, a 7 id hope to enjoy both the 
tea and the chat. 

Yours cordially, 

Mary Moore. 

My Dear Sir : 

We start 7iext Tuesday for the Catskills, 
by p7'ivate C 07 iveya 7 iee . There is roo7n for 07ie 
more in our carriage, a 7 id we should be glad 
to haveyou fill the vaca 7 it space. I trust no 
mco 7 ivenie 7 it e 7 igage 77 ie 7 it will hmder your 

acceptance. 

Yours socially, 
William Black. 

Mr. S. D. Henderson. 


In these bracing Autiwm days, when the 
foliage is so beautiful, I am sure you will 
enjoy a ride for an hour or more. It will 
give 7 ne great pleasure to haveyour company 
for a ride on Saturday afternoon next, and 
I hope you will have 710 previous engage77ient 
at that time. 

Sincerely yours , 

Francis Thorne. 

Reply of Lady to Invitation. 

“ The Cedarsi ’ 

Dear Mr. Thomie : 

It is, indeed, very kind of you to think oj 
my pleasure. The prospect of a ride for Sat¬ 
urday afternoon is very attractive. 

I shall be pleased to go with you, and shall 
await you at three o'clock Saturday. 

Sincerely, 

Bertha Barry. 

October fourth, ipoj. 


XII. ART OF LETTER-WRITING 


A correspondence between two persons 
is simply a conversation reduced to writing. 
We should write to an absent person as we 
would speak to the same party if present. 
To a superior, we ought to be respectful; to 
a parent, dutiful and affectionate; to a friend, 
frank and easy ; and clear and definite in our 
expressions to all. 

Conciseness is one of the charms of 
letter-writing. A letter should contain the 
desired facts, ideas, and feelings ; but they 
ought to be expressed as briefly as per¬ 
spicuity and elegance wall permit. 

Lengthened periods are as much out of 
place in a letter as they would be in conver¬ 
sation, for they tire the reader even more 
than they w’ould the hearer. When written, 
their faults are also perceived with much 
less difficulty than when spoken. 

When the party to whom a letter is ad¬ 
dressed is uninterested in the subject on 
which it is written, the writer of it should 
display a brevity which will attract atten¬ 
tion and insure a perusal. No unnecessary 
ornament should be used, nor, in fact, any¬ 


thing introduced but what is important and 
bears strongly on the case stated, or the 
inquiry made. 

To an absent friend, on the contrary, a 
lengthy epistle, well filled with details of 
passing incidents, is likely to prove welcome 
and interesting, and one may venture even 
upon prolixity if sure that his correspondent 
has a strong interest in the subject, and is 
likely to desire minute details concerning it. 

Style in Correspondence. 

The style of the letter may rise with the 
subject, and with the character of the person 
written to. In a familiar epistle an effort 
at dignity of style is misplaced, but such is 
not the case where the person addressed is 
superior in position or character, or where 
the subject is one demanding seriousness 
and dignity. For instance, the death of a 
friend or relation, a calamity, or any cir¬ 
cumstance of grave importance, should not 
be communicated in the same manner as a 
trifling occurrence, or even a happy event: 


394 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 




brevity, in tlie latter case, is beauty ; in the 
former, it would be deemed unfeeling and 
abrupt. 

Express your thoughts in simple English 
and in legible writing. The latter should 
be clear and bold. Never write carelessly 
or hurriedly ; read the letter over before 
sending ; and, if writing more than one let¬ 
ter at a time, be cautious that such are not 
put in the wrong envelopes. Great atten¬ 
tion should be paid to correct punctuation. 

As to writing material, the shape and 
size of paper and envelopes are not so im¬ 
portant as the quality. They should be 
plain white, with no colored border (except 
the black border when in mourning), and 
of substantial texture. The address of the 
writer, printed neatly at the head of the 
sheet, should take the place of any attempt 
at ornament. 

Fold all letters evenly, and put the stamp 
in the upper right-hand corner. Remember 
to enclose a stamp when writing to a stranger 
concerning your own affairs. Use postal 
cards only for ordinary business communi¬ 
cations ; never for friendly correspondence 
or in writing to any one who might be 
annoyed by having his or her occupation 
made public. 

Take the trouble to spell correctly. Be 
careful to write dates, numbers and proper 
names plainly. Date a note, at the conclu¬ 
sion, on the left-hand side of the page ; a 
letter at the beginning, on the right hand. 
Sign a letter with a full name, or with the 
last name and initials. In business corre- 
spondencesign “yours respectfully,” “your 
obedient servant,” “yourstruly,” or “yours 
sincerely.” Place the name and address of 
your correspondent at the upper left-hand 
corner of the page. 

Let your signature suit the style of the 
letter—a business communication should*. 
bear a formal, a friendly note, a cordial con¬ 
clusion. Between intimate friends and rel¬ 
atives no formal rule is laid down for the 
beginning and ending of letters. The 
etiquette of letter-writing should only be 
considered between strangers or slight ac¬ 
quaintances. In these cases it is well to 
preserve a mean between cold formality and 
familiarity. 


Forms of Address. 

The conventional forms are “Sir,** 
“Dear Sir,” “My Dear Sir,” or “Ma¬ 
dam,” “Dear Madam,” or “My Dear 
Madam.” Either of these can iTe used, 
but to a total stranger ‘ ‘ My Dear Sir ’ ’ is 
rather too cordial, and to an acquaintance 
“ Sir ” is too formal, unless there is a pur¬ 
pose to convey coldness of feeling. When 
writing to persons of your own social class, 
though strangers, “ Dear Sir ” or “ Dear 
Madam” are used in preference to “ Sir ” 
or “ Madam.” 

A married lady should not sign herself 
“ Mrs.”, nor an unmarried one “ Miss,” 
except in writing to a stranger who will 
need to reply. In this case the full name 
should be signed, as “ Miss Susan Blake,” 
or “ Mrs. Mary Brown.” Mrs. and Miss 
may be enclosed in parenthesis. Letters to 
married ladies are usually addressed with 
the initials or names of the husband, “ Mrs. 
John P. Smith,” etc. Widows and unmar¬ 
ried ladies should only be addressed with 
their Christian names, “ Mrs. Mary Smith ” 
or “Miss Fanny Jones.” The eldest 
daughter or unmarried lady of the family 
should be addressed “Miss” simply, the 
Christian name being omitted. “ Mr.” and 
“ Esq.” cannot be used simultaneously. A 
letter must be addressed either like the fol¬ 
lowing examples, to “ Mr. R. H. Smith” 
or to “ R. H. Smith, Esq.” When a letter 
is addressed to the Hon. James Blank, the 
“ Esq.” must not follow. 

Never use the husband’s title in direct¬ 
ing a letter to the wife, as “Mrs. Gen. 
James Bancroft,” or “Mrs. Rev r . John 
Pearl.” 

Do not cross a letter, put the most im¬ 
portant part of it in a postscript, or sign it 
in the first person, if it has been written in 
the third. Never fail to answer promptly, 
in case the communication requires an 
answer. 

When a note is commenced “ Sir ” or 
“Dear Sir,” it is usual to write the name 
of the person addressed at the end of the 
letter or note in the left-hand corner, or it 
may be put before the commencement; foi 
instance, “ To R. H. Smith, Esq.,” but in 
this case it must not be repeated at the 
bottom. 



BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


395 


A son of the same name as his father 
is addressed in this way : “ R. H. Smith, 

Jr., Esq.” 

fetters or notes to servants usually be¬ 
gin with the servant’s name, and then the- 
directions follow in the third person ; ex¬ 
ample : “To Mary Smith : Mrs. Brown 
will return home on Saturday next, etc.” 

Address a clergyman “ Reverend Sir ” 
or “ Dear Sir,’’ and direct the envelope to 
“ Rev. John Blank; ’’ or if the initial is 
not known, to “ Rev.-Blank.” 

Address a doctor of divinity “To the 
Rev. John Hall, D.D.,” or the “ Rev. Dr. 
Hall.” 

Address a doctor of medicine “J. B. 
Blank, M.D.,” or “Dr. J. B. Blank,” or 
“ Dr. Blank.” 

Address a bishop “To the Right Rev. 

the Bishop of --,” or “To the Right 

Rev. H. C. Potter, D.D., Bishop of-,” 

and begin the letter “ Right Rev. Sir,” or 
“ Right Rev. and Dear Sir.” 

Address foreign ministers as “ His Ex¬ 
cellency and Honorable.” 

Letters to the President should be ad¬ 
dressed “To His Excellency, the President 
of the United States,” or “ President of the 
United States.” 

Cabinet officers should be addressed 
“ To the Honorable J. C. Blank, Secretary 
of State,” “To the Hon. -, the Post¬ 

master-General , ’ ’ etc. 

In writing to Senators or members of the 
House, address “ To the Hon. --— 

Officers of the army or navy are ad¬ 
dressed by their titles, as “ General Wilson 
Earle,” “ Captain Paul Jones,” Admiral 
William Harvey,” etc. The members Oj a 
college faculty are addressed as “ Profes¬ 
sor,” and their particular title may be ad¬ 
ded after the name, as “D.D.”, “ LL.D,” 
etc. This addition of titular abbreviations 
applies as well to scientists, physicians, and 
all others whose special college title may be 
known to the writer. 

Letters of Recommendation. 

A letter of recommendation should be 
composed with careful attention to its state¬ 
ments. It is a guarantee for the party 
recommended, and truth should never be 
sacrificed to condescension, false kindness 


or politeness. To write a letter of recom¬ 
mendation contrary to one’s own opinion 
and knowledge of the person recommended, 
is to be guilty of a great imprudence. 

To say all that is necessary, in a clear 
and distinct manner, and nothing more, is 
the grand merit of a letter on business of 
any kind. Peasantry and pathos would be 
greatly misplaced in it, unless it embraced 
some other subject than the business one. 
Brilliant diction is a dress in which direc¬ 
tions on business should never be clothed. 
The style ought to be precise, sufficiently 
copious to leave no uncertainty, but not re¬ 
dundant. Every thing necessary should be 
stated, plainly and unequivocally; so that 
the party addressed may be in full posses¬ 
sion of our desires and opinions on the sub¬ 
ject involved. Ambiguity is nowhere so 
unpardonable as in a letter on business. 

Letters of Introduction. 

Letters of introduction are one of the 
common methods of establishing social rela¬ 
tions. The person who is not known to 
your friend can become known through 
your kind offices. In this way, very often, 
important services can be rendered. 

Never give a letter of introduction un¬ 
less you thoroughly understand the charac¬ 
ter and manners of the person to whom you 
write the letter and also of the person whom 
the letter introduces. 

You have no right, to avoid giving of¬ 
fence, or through sheer inability to say no 
to a request, to foist upon your distant 
friend some one for whose acquaintance he 
will not thank you and who may prove a 
very undesirable visitor. If one or the 
other of the two parties concerned must be 
offended, let it be the applicant. You can 
usually give some sufficient reason for de¬ 
clining—but decline in any event, if the 
person is likely to prove objectionable. 

As such a letter cannot well enter into 
particulars, it is customary and desirable to 
notify your friend by mail of the fact that 
you have given a letter of introduction to 
such a person, and tell him what further it 
is well for him to know concerning the 
character and purpose of his probable visi¬ 
tor. If you have given such a letter to a 
party of whom you do not approve, all that 







BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


39 6 

remains is to warn your friend privately, 
placing him on his guard against a possibly 
objectionable person. 

A letter of introduction (unless sent by 
mail) should be delivered, unsealed, by the 
writer of the letter to the bearer of the in¬ 
troduction, and should be closed by the 
latter before delivery to the party to whom 
it is addressed. If purely a business intro¬ 
duction and one which can be delivered 
personally, it may remain unsealed. 

The bearer of a letter of introduction 
should send it to the house of the person to 
whom it is addressed, together with a card 
on which should be written his address. It 
is not in order to deliver it in person, since 
this may force the party addressed into a 
position which he may prefer to decline. It 
does not follow, because a friend has chosen 
to introduce you to another, that this other 
may not have private reasons for declining 
your acquaintance, or may be prevented 
from seeing and entertaining you by stress 
of other engagements. If he lives in a large 
city, the letter may make him feel obliged 
to escort you to the various places of in¬ 
terest, or in any case to invite you to meals 
or other entertainments. We should not 
tax the time or the purse of a friend, except 
for a satisfactory reason. 

The letter delivered, there is nothing 
more to be done until the party receiving it 
calls upon you or sends you some card or 
note of invitation. Those who receive such 
letters should, within twenty-four hours, if 
possible, take some kindly notice of them by 
a call or an invitation. 

A letter of introduction must be care¬ 
fully worded, stating clearly the name of 
the person introduced, but with as few per¬ 
sonal remarks as possible. It suffices in 
most cases to say that the bearer is a friend 
of yours, whom you trust your other friend 
will receive with attention, or you may state 
his profession, object in traveling, etc. In 
traveling, one cannot have too many letters 
of introduction. It is the custom in foreign 
towns for the newcomer to call on the resi¬ 
dents first, a hint that may prove acceptable 
to persons contemplating a long or short 
residence abroad. 

A letter of introduction of a business 
nature may be delivered by the bearer in 


person, since it requires no social obliga¬ 
tions. In style it should resemble other 
business letters ; that is, it should be brief 
and to the point. 

If a stranger sends you a letter of intro¬ 
duction, and his or her card (for the law of 
etiquette here holds good for both sexes), 
good form requires that 3 7 ou should not only 
call next day, but follow up that attention 
by others. If you are in a position to do so, 
the next correct proceeding is to send an 
invitation to dinner. Should circumstances 
not render this available, you can probably 
escort the stranger to some exhibition, con¬ 
cert, public building, museum, or other place 
likely to prove interesting to a foreigner or 
provincial visitor. In short, etiquette de¬ 
mands that you shall exert yourself to 
show kindness in some desirable way to the 
stranger, out of compliment to the friend 
who introduced him to you. 

If you invite strangers to dinner or tea, 
it is a higher compliment to ask others to 
meet them than to dine with them alone. 
You thereby afford them an opportunity of 
making other acquaintances, and are assist¬ 
ing your friend in still further promoting 
the purpose for which he gave the introduc¬ 
tion to yourself. Be careful at the same 
time only to ask such persons as you are 
quite sure are the stranger’s own social 
equals. 

Letters of Congratulation or Condolence. 

Kpistles of this kind need to be very 
carefully written. Unless there is some 
actual sympathy in the mind of the writer, 
they had better, in many cases, be left un¬ 
written, since they may serve the opposite 
purpose to that designed. A verbal expres¬ 
sion of feeling, where there is no feeling, is 
apt to fail of its intention. If such a letter 
prove difficult to compose, it is likely to 
seem studied, cold, and formal. Simplicity 
and ease of expression are necessary ele¬ 
ments in a note of condolence or compli¬ 
ment. 

A letter of congratulation should avoid 
any indication of other than unselfish good 
feeling in the writer. The slightest show of 
envy or jealousy at the good fortune of those 
whom we felicitate is unpardonable. It 
should on no account contain a hint of any 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


397 


hope that the advancement, or change of 
situation, upon which the compliment is 
made, may afford the person addressed the 
means of conferring a benefit on the party 
writing. 

Such a letter should, in fact, be an un¬ 
mixed expression of pleasure and congratu¬ 
lation on the event that calls for its pro¬ 
duction. But care must be taken to keep 
within due bounds ; to exaggerate in our 
congratulations may be to seem satirical. 

In a letter of congratulation we should 
be cheerful ; from an epistle of condolence 
all pleasantry should be banished. When 
addressing a person who is. laboring under 
any grievous calamity, it is bad taste to 
make light of it; to treat that loss as a 
matter which might be endured calmly, by 
a little firmness on the part of the party 
who has suffered it, has the effect to irritate 
rather than soothe. One should seek to 
enter into the feelings of the mourner, to 
eulogize the departed relation, to rebuke 
the ingratitude of the false friend, to confess, 
the inconstancy of fortune, or otherwise, 
according to the circumstances ; and, with¬ 
out magnifying, to lament the affliction. 

Language like this is balm to the 
wounded mind, which rejects consolation 
from those who do not seem sensible of the 
extent of the sorrow under which it labors. 
But such a subject must be treated with a 
delicate hand, for an exaggerated expression 
of sympathy may give the appearance of 
insincerity, and of a strained endeavor to 
condole. In such a case it may aggravate 
the depression which it seeks to remove. 

Replying to Letters. 

Every letter, that is not insulting, merits 
a reply, if it be required or necessary. If 
the letter contains a request, it should 
either be acceded to gracefully and without 
ostentation, or refused without harshness. 
An answer to a letter of condolence or of 
congratulation should be grateful. The 
subjects should succeed each other in proper 
order, and the questions put be consecu¬ 
tively answered. In familiar correspond¬ 
ence a greater latitude of arrangement is 
allowed; but even in this no question 
should be left unanswered. In all replies it 


is usual to acknowledge the receipt, and to 
mention the date, of the last letter received: 
if this be neglected, your correspondent may 
be left in doubt, and may, through mis¬ 
understanding, hold you guilty of some 
offense. 

Punctuation. 

Punctuation is a matter of the utmost 
importance in every species of literary com¬ 
position ; without it there can be no clear¬ 
ness, strength, or accuracy. Its utility 
consists in separating the different portions 
of what is written in such a manner that 
the subjects may be properly classed and 
subdivided, so as to convey the precise 
meaning of the writer to the reader. It 
shows the relation which the various parts 
bear to each other, unites such as ought to 
be connected, and keeps apart such as have 
no mutual dependence. 

It is much to be lamented that so little 
attention is paid to this important subject. 
As there is no positive system of punctu¬ 
ation to direct the writer, the modern edi¬ 
tions of good authors should be carefully 
studied, in order to acquire the leading 
principles of the art. The construction of 
sentences may be examined, and the mode 
adopted of dividing them attended to with 
considerable advantage. 

One cannot expect, perhaps, in this 
manner to become an expert in punctua¬ 
tion, but may grow sufficiently familiar with 
its essential elements to make no serious 
errors. The mode of placing punctuation 
marks permits of considerable latitude, and 
it is advisable not to be too profuse in their 
employment. The use of the comma is fre¬ 
quently very faulty through carelessness 
in this particular, dividing parts of sen¬ 
tences which naturally cohere, and being 
dropped in the centre of a phrase in which 
it is absurdly out of place. The natural 
halting points for the reader, or slight 
breaks in the sense, should be duly consid¬ 
ered, and a mark placed in consonance with 
the degree of this break. The comma and 
the dash do duty with many as the only 
elements of punctuation, the latter being 
much ever used, through a desire to escape 
the necessity of considering the proper 
mark required. 


39 8 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


Postscripts. 

Lady writers have been accused, and 
perhaps with some reason, of often reserv¬ 
ing the most important part of a letter for 
the postscript. It is an accusation which 
they should avoid giving cause for. Post¬ 
scripts are, for the most part, needless, and 
in bad taste. It is best to pause a few mo¬ 
ments before concluding a letter, and reflect 
whether we have anything more to say. 
Above all things, none should defer civili¬ 
ties or kind inquiries to this justly-despised 
part of a letter. To do so is a proof of 
thoughtlessness or disrespect. “ My kind¬ 


est regards to my cousin Lucy,” added as a 
postscript, looks like what it really is—an 
after-thought; and is, therefore, not only 
without value, but, to persons of fine feel¬ 
ings, offensive. 

To all writers something will occasion¬ 
ally occur, after finishing the letter, which 
it is important to state. If to have for¬ 
gotten it implies no disrespect it may 
properly be added as a postscript. But if 
it should indicate a forgetfulness which 
may possibly offend the recipient, the whole 
letter had better be rewritten, and the 
after-thought put in its proper place. 


XIII. FORMS OF CORRESPONDENCE. 


Having given in the preceding sections 
some hints as to letter-writing and examples 
of notes of invitation, acceptance, and de¬ 
clination, it seems important to append some 
more diversified examples of letter-writing 
and correspondence, as brief guides to a 
broad domain of social duty and obligation. 
Letters of this kind are endlessly diversified 
in form and purpose, and a few examples, 
chosen largely at random, must suffice. 

Ordering Goods. 

In ordering goods be careful to state ex¬ 
actly what you want, and whether you wish 
goods delivered by freight or express. 

It is customary in.writing orders to use 
abbreviations for mercantile terms which are 
known among business men. 

Should you wish to ask any questions or 
to make suggestions, write these upon a 
separate sheet from the order itself. 

Send your order some time before you 
need the goods, so that you may not suffer 
on account of any slight delay upon the 
sender’s part. 

Danville , Va., Dec. 20, 1903. 

Strawbridge & Clothier , 

Philadelphia , Pa. 

Dear Sirs : 

Enclosed find draft for $75 on First Na¬ 
tional Dank of Danville , for which please for¬ 
ward by U. S. Express : 

6 pairs White Kid Gloves , No. 6. 

j pairs Brown Kid Gloves , No. 6. 


1 dozen Linen Handkerchiefs lady's size. 

1 5 yards of Silk like sample enclosed. 

The amount overpaid in my remittance you 
may place to my credit subject to future orders. 

Respectfully , 

{Mrs.) Julia D. Brown. 

Application for a Situation as Teacher. 

Sabina, Kansas, fitly 5, 1902. 

Gentlemen : 

Understanding that a vacancy for the 
situation of teacher in yo2tr school has 
occurred , I beg to offer myself as a candidate, 
and to inclose my certificate and letters of rec¬ 
ommendation from persons you no doubt 
know. While I feel that these can better 
sfeak for me than I can for myself ’ / venture 
to assure you that , should you appoint me to 
the position , I shall strive to discharge my 
duties earnestly and steadily, and shall ever 
remain, 

Your grateful and obedient servant, 

feanette Wilson. 

To the Trustees or Principal of School. 

Introducing a Young Lady Seeking 
Employment. 

Brooklyn, May 2, 1903. 
Dear Mr. Martin: 

This will introduce to you my friend Miss 
Mabel Bcechem , who is desirous of obtaining 
employment in your city. I use our old 
acquaintanceship to interest you in her behalf. 
She has received a very liberal education, and 
would prove of great value to a family whose 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 399 


young children need careful and judicious 
teaching. She is gentle, amiable, and willing. 
I trust you will be able to serve her, and I 
shall greatly appreciate the attention you may 
give her. 

Very truly, 

Barclay Jones. 

To Mr. Joseph Martin, 

21 75 Pine Street Philadelphia, Pa. 

Introducing a Friend. 

St. Louis, Mo., Jan. 3, 1901. 
Dear James B.: 

This letter will introduce to you my dear 
friend William White, who is to be in your 
city for a few days on business aiid pleasure. 
I desire him to meet you and trust it will be 
convenient for you to give him a few moments 
of your time. 

A?iy attentioyi you give him during his 
stay hi Chicago will be greatly appreciated by 

Your Jrie7id, 

Charles F. Jenkins. 

Mr. James B. Smith, 

14.1 Wabash Ave7iue, Chicago. 

Short Form of Introduction. 

Chicago, III., June 11, 1900. 
My Dear Sir : 

I have the ho 7 ior of hitroducing to your 
acquainta7ice Mr. Fra7ik Ward, whom I C0771- 
mend to your kind atte 7 itio 7 i. 

Very truly yours, 

William S. French. 

Mr. Benj . F. Strong, 

Detroit, Mich. 

Congratulating a Gentleman Upon His 

Marriage. 

Wilmingto7L, Ohio, Sept. 12, 1900. 
Dear Fra7ik : 

I have j 7 ist received the welcome ?nessage 
informing ? 7 ie of your new happiness. I 
hasten to offer you 77 iy most sincere coiigratu- 
lations aiid hearty good wishes. May every 
year of your married life fi 7 id you happier 
than the last, a7id 77iay Mrs. Cranston fiiid 
you as loyal a husband as you have been a 
friend. 

From my inmost heart } dear Franks I 


say, God bless you and your bHde with His 
choicest blessings. 

Ever your friend, 

George Maris. 

Mr. Frank Cranston, 

Newport, Del. 

Congratulating a Lady Upon Her 

Marriage. 

iy9 D St., N. W. 
Washington, D. C., Nov. 4, 1903 
Dear Emma: 

Your cards have just reached 77ie, and I 
write at 07 ice to try to express my heartfelt 
pleasure at your happy prospects. It is a 
great pleasure to your loving friends to be 
able to feel so much esteem a 7 id affectioii for 
the ge 7 itleman to whom you have co 7 ifidedyour 
life's happiness, and to hope, as I do, that 
every year will U 7 iite your hearts riiore closely. 

That Heaveii 77iay bless you both, dear 
Emma, is the earnest prayer of 

Your loving 

Laura Shipley. 

Mrs. J. Barrie Brown. 

A Letter Sent with a Gift (a Book). 

9yy President St., 

Brooklyn N, Y., Dec. 20, 190-. 

My Dear Frieiid:—I hope the accoinpaiiy- 
hig volume, of which I ask your accepta 7 ice as 
a slight token of my regard, will suit your 
taste. Books are hi theiiiselves friends, and 
are therefore, I thiiik, the most appropri¬ 
ate souvenirs of frieiidship. In fact the cur • 
reiit phrase, “ Ikiiow you like a book," al¬ 
though a vulgarism, seems to imply the same 
intimate relatmi between reader aiid author 
that should exist between frieiid aiid frieiid. 
Please apprise me of the receipt of the package, 
aiid believe 77 ie, 

Ever yours sincerely 

John Clark. 

To Miss Julia Thomas, Braiidywine, Del. 

The Reply. 

Braiidywine, Del., Dec. 23, 190-. 

My Dear Mr. Clark :—Accept my thanks 
fgy your handsome present. You could not 


400 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


have selected a book that would have pleased 
me better. I think with you that books (of the 
right kind ) should be looked upon as agreea¬ 
ble and useful friends; but ?ieverthcless the 
friend whom neither time nor distance can 
estra?ige, is a treasure of more value than all 
the volumes that ever were printed. Permit 
me to regard you in that light, and, again 
thanking you for your present, to remain, 

Sincerely yours, 

Jiilia Tho?nas. 

To Mr. John Clark, Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Soliciting a Loan from a Friend. 

2790 N. Broad St., 

Philadelphia, Sept, 9, 1903. 

My Dear Sir :—A disappointment in the 
receipt of some money due has exposed me to a 
temporary embarrassment. The sum which 
would extricate me from this painful difficulty 
is not large, as $700 would be amply sufficient 
to release me from my present pressure. I 
have so great an aversion to borrowing money 
from professional lenders, that I prefer the 
course of soliciting the aid of some well-known 
friend. I have thought of several, but of none 
with a greater degree of eonfide?ice than your¬ 
self. Can you grant me, then, the accommo¬ 
dation of the above sum, without in any way 
intrenching on your own conve?iience f If you 
can, I believe I may rely on your readiness to 
do so ; and you may in turn depend being 
reimbursed with the strictest punctuality by 
the 5th of April. A speedy reply to this re¬ 
quest will extremely oblige, 

My dear sir, 

Yours most sincerely, 

foseph Howard. 

To Mr. Frank Thomson. 

In Answer Dscling, on Account of 
Incapability. 

1783 Mulberry Street, 
Philadelphia, Sept. 10, 1903. < 

My Dear Sir :—I truly regret that my 
circumstances will not permit me to oblige a 
friend so dear to me as yourself; but at 
present lam in great need of money, and last 
Friday I was compelled to borrow, to meet a 
pressing obligation ; I therefore do not have it 
within my power to comply with your request. 

Trusting that you may be more successful 


in some other quarter, and with feelings of 
regret at my own inability to render you a 
service which you might otherwise readily 
command, 

Believe me to remain, 

Ever your sincere friend, 

Charles Hall. 

To Mr. foseph Howard, 

No. — Lexington Ave., N. Y. 

A Letter to a Friend (on the Anni¬ 
versary of his Birthday. 

1917 Green Stree ', 

Philadelphia. July 3, 190-. 

My Dear Walter:—Birthdays may be called 
the milestones in life's journey, and as you 
reach another of these anniversary land- marks 
to-day, permit me to congratulate you on hav¬ 
ing traveled them thus far in safety, and to 
ivish you, with all my heart, many similar 
opportunities of receiving the good wishes of 
your friends. That your future years may 
glide happily away, without care or sorrow, is 
the sincere prayer of, 

Yours most sincerely, 

Thomas Meek. 

To Mr. Walter Dewey, 

Crestline, Ohio. 

Reply to the Above. 

Crestline, Ohio, fitly 10, 190—. 

Dear Tom :—Congratulations that come 
from the heart, as I am sure yours do, are 
always welcome. I scarcely know, however, 
whether we ought to be complimented on grow- 
ing older, unless we grow wiser and better as 
well . Nevertheless, the custom of receiving 
the felicitations of one's friends arid acquaint¬ 
ances, on having made another step toward 
the goal, is decidedly an agreeable o?ie, and I 
thank you most cordially for your kind vote. 

Your obliged friend, 

Walter Denary. 

To Mr. Thomas Meek, 

Philadelphia, Pa. 

Requesting a Friend to execute a. 
Commission. 

Santiago, Cuba, 

April 13, 1902 

My Dear Emma :—Will you kindly exe¬ 
cute the following little commissions for p*e*a$ 


book: of etiquette 401 


soon as you can make it convenient f Pur¬ 
chase for me at Macy's the following articles ; 
— (here state ribbons, muslins, CLc., as 
wanted .) Will you also call at Doubleday's 
and inquire when BachelleY s new novel will 
be out, as I am all anxiety to know. 

Please give them my address at Macy's, 
and tell them to pack the parcel carefully and 
send it by express. 

The weather down here is delightful; but 
I wish I had the pleasure of your company to 
render it more so. Pray write a line and let 
me know how soon you can make me a visit, 
and thus afford me an opportunity to thank 
you personally for your kindness. 

Lois C: Pharnum. 

7 o Miss Mary White, 

No. — Washington Square, New York. 

Application for Subscription to a 
Charity. 

Duane Street, 

Louisville, Ky., 

fanuary 17, igo-. 

Sir —I take the liberty of inclosing a pros¬ 
pectus of an institution which is likely to have 
a most beneficial effect upon the condition of 
the poor in our neighborhood, fflere state 
particulars .) On account of your well-known 
liberality, I trust you will excuse this appeal 
in furtherance of an act of benevolence, and 
remain, 

Sir, your most obedient servant, 

Harry R. /ones. 

To Pliney Earle, Esq., 

No. — West 18th Street, City. 

Letters of Application. 

BOY WAN TED for Transportation Office; 
must be good penman ; $15 per month. Address, 
in own handwriting, H, 236 Ledger Office. 

Philadelphia, Pa., fan. 3, igor. 

H, 236 Ledger Office. 

Sir:—I zvoiild respectfully apply for the 
position advertised in to-day's Ledger. Iam 
fifteen years old, reside with my parents at 
yg fayne Street, Camden, and refer you to 
Mr. S. L. Thomas, 81 q Market Street, this 
city, from whom I received the enclosed testi- 
monial. 

Very truly, 

Albert Jenkins . 


Application for Position of Salesman 
and Collector, 

100 D St. N. W. 

Washington, D. C., 
March 21, 1 gor. 
Messrs. S. H. Smith < 5 r Co., 

Wheeling, W. Va. 

Gentlemen: 

/ am recommended by Mr. Frank Stuart 
to apply to you for the position of salesman 
and collector, recently occupied by him in your 
warehouse. 

I am twenty-eight years of age, and re¬ 
side with my father in this city, who will give 
bonds for me if required. I have had some 
experience in your line of business, a)id should 
be pleased to have a trial with you, if prefer¬ 
able, previous to a permanent ezigagement. I 
am at liberty to refer to Messrs. W. H. 
Fletcher & Co., Lace Curtains, ig8 Broad¬ 
way, New York, also to Messrs. Simpson & 
Jones, Upholstery Goods, 166 Arch Street, 
Philadelphia, Pa. 

Very respectfully, 

Edward Murphy. 

Requesting the Settlement of an Account. 

Newark, N.f., Dec. 23, igoo. 
Mr. James Jones, 

Burlington, N.J. 

Dear Sir : 

I call your attentiozi to the fact that your 
account, which I enclose, has not bec 7 i settled. 
I am reluctant to press you, but as I have 
some heavy payments to make in the early part 
of 7 iext month, 1 77 iust reqziest that you pay 
the amount before the close of the prese 7 it 

77 l 07 ltll. 

Respectfully yours, 

fohn Adams. 

A Demand for Payment of Rent. 

iqog North Ninth St ., 

Philadelphia, Pa. 

Ju7ie 3, igoq. 

Mr. Thomas F. Smith. 

Dear Sir: 

Ifeel obliged to re 7 nind you of the fact that 
you owe i 7 ie $120 for three months' re 7 it. 
You will remember that, accordhig to the 
agreement, you were to make monthly 


26 li h 


402 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


payments ; therefore , if the account is not settled 
within a week , I shall be obliged to place the 
matter in the hands of my lawyer for collection , 
as I cannot allow it to run any longer. 

Truly yours , 

Henry S. Holmes. 

Introducing a Young Man Seeking a 

Position. 

Akron, Ohio , June i , 1900. 

My Dear Sir : 

Recognizing your well-merited and ex¬ 
tensive influence in the commercial circles in 
your city, / beg to introduce to you Charles F. 
Pogle , zj desirous of obtaining a position 
with a mercantile house. He is a gentleman 
of capacity and ability. His character stands 
A 1, and he is as industrious as he is ener¬ 
getic. He considers New York a better field 
than this place, and prefers to try his chances 
there to remaining here. He can refer to me. 
Trusti?ig that you- will lend him a helping 
hand, I am, Yours , very truly, 

faines B. Marvel. 

Mr. Edward Fetter, 

19 Park Row, New York. 

Social Letters. 

Let these be original and not be like the 
epistles of some one else ; write as you would 
talk, but always exercise care in the use of 
pure, simple language and avoid a stilted or 
artificial style. Especially in the long let¬ 
ters of friendship and love—those missives 
that reveal the heart—the language should 
show that the h*art is pure. Let your letter 
be the record of the fancies and mood of the 
hour; the reflex of your aspirations, your 
joys, your disappointments. 

Write cheerfully. It is unkind to your 
friend to fill your letter with complainings 
and accounts of your troubles, though there 
are occasions when one may confide all his 
sorrows to the near friend, and receive in re¬ 
turn a letter of sympathy, containing all the 
comfort it is possible for a letter to convey. 

The length of social letters must depend 
upon circumstances and degree of intimacy. 
To members of your family real chatty 
letters telling of all the little incidents of 
your life, its pleasures and adventures are 
always proper. In fact, these need be limited 
only by your time and paper. To others 
you must not write such long letters. 


The following is a feeling letter of con¬ 
dolence, written by Frances Ridley Haver- 
gal to a lady friend : 

Leamington , Dec. 10 , 1870. 
Dear , Dear Mrs. Smith : 

What can I do but just weep with you ! I 
can only guess what this sorrow is. Only I 
know it must be the greatest , except one , which 
could come to you. That dear little, beautiful 
thing ! He looked so sweet and happy when I 
saw him; no baby face ever haunted me as, 
somehow, his did. If you could only see him 
now , how beautiful he must be now that he has 
seen Jesus, and shines in the light of God. It 
is even more wonderful to think of that great 
transition for a baby than for a grown per¬ 
son ; one cannot imagine the sudden expansion 
into such knowledge and conscious joy. 

I was looking back this morning upon long 
memories of soul-trials, years of groping and 
stumbling and longing , sinning and sorrow¬ 
ing, of heart weariness and faintness, temp¬ 
tation and failure; all these things which I 
suppose every Christian must pass through , 
more or less, at some stage or other on the 
way home ; and the first distinct thought which 
came through the surprise and sorrow at the 
sad news was, “ That dear little redeemed one 
is spared all this, taken home without any of 
these roughest roughnesses of the way ; he will 
never fear doubt or sin, never grieve his 
Saviour. ” Is it not the very best and kindest 
thing that tender Saviour could do for him ? 
Only it is not what you meant when you 
prayed that he might be his own. 

But better'he is with him at once and for¬ 
ever, and waiting for you to come home. I 
am only writing all this because my heart is 
full , and must pour out a little. I know we 
cannot comfort,—only Jesus can ; and I shall 
go and plead long and intensely for this as 
soon as I have closed my letter. He must be 
specially “ touched in such a sorrow , for he 
knows by actual experience what human love 
is. Three such great sorrows in one year! 
How specially he must be watching you in this 
furnace ! 

Yours with deepest sympathy, 

Frances R. Haver gal. 

This may fitly be followed by a letter of 
congratulation, of which we give a manu¬ 
factured example. Too often it is the case 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


403 


that friends forget to congratulate those they 
are interested in when good fortune of any 
kind comes upon them, or to commiserate 
with them in cases of disaster or misfortune. 
These letters not only are proper but very 
acceptable. The one receiving such letters 
should not fail to acknowledge them. They 
properly should not be very long or very 
effusive. 

New York, May 8, 1903. 
My Dear Mr. Williams : 

It is with deep satisfaction that I learn of 
your good for time. I have long hoped that 
the clouds which lowered over you would be 
lifted, and sincerely hope that you have fairly 
entered upon a tide of prosperity. In o?ie 
who, like you, have been true and honorable i?i 
all your actions, and have suffered in means 
through honesty in dealing, the comhig of a 
measure of success like this should be especially 
gratifying. 

May you continue to prosper, and if in any 
way I can advance your interests in this quar¬ 
ter do not fail to make use of me. Present my 
best wishes to Mrs. Williams, and believe me 

Sincerely yours, 

fames Dobson. 

From Charles Dickens to James T. Fields. 

As an excellent example of a reply to a 
letter conveying pleasant wishes, we present 
the following from Dickens : 

Gad's Hill, June 10, i86y. 
My Dear Fields: 

Your letter of May 2jth comes to me like 
a breath from your own world beyond the sea. 
Believe me, I reciprocate all your good wishes, 
a?id take this occasio?i to renew those sentiments 
of respect arid affection for yourself which it 
has been my privilege to entertain for so long 
a time. In the busy hours of exacting labors, 
I recall with pleasure the choice friends whom 
it has bee7i my happy lot to meet. Ti77ie does 
not rust, but brightens, the links of the golde 7 i 
chain. With every good wish for your per- 
S 07 ial health and enjoyment, I ai 7 i, as ever, 
Yours most shicerely, 

Charles Dickens . 

Mr. James T. Fields, 

Bosto7i, Mass. 


From Charles Sumner on Leaving for 
Europe to his Ten=year Old Sister. 

Astor Ho7ise, 

New York, Dec. 7, 1837 

My Dear fulia: 

I don't remember that I ever wrote you a 
letter. I feel confide 7 it, however, that your 
corresp 07 idence is 7 iot very extensive; a 7 id 
therefore Iflatter myself that what I write you 
will be read with atte 7 ition, and I trust, also, 
deposited hi your heart. Before trusthig my¬ 
self to the sea, let me say a few words to you 
which shall be my good-by. I have ofte 7 i 
spoke 7 i to you of certahi habits of perso 7 ial 
care, which I will 7 iot here more particularly 
refer to than by asking you to remember all I 
have told you. 

I a 77 i very glad, 7 ny dear, to remember 
your cheerful cowitenance. I shall keep it hi 
my 77ihid as I h'avel over sea and land, and 
hope that when I return I may still find its 
pleasant smile ready to greet 7ne. Try 7iever 
to ay. But above all things 7iever be obsthiate 
or passioiiate. If you find your teiiiper 77ias< 
tering you, always stop till you count sixty 
before you say or do aiiy thing. Let it be said 
of you that you are always amiable. Love your 
fcfther and 77 iother aiid brothers and sisters, 
and all your friends ; cultivate aii affectionate 
disposition. 

If you find that you can do anythhig 
which will add to the pleasure of your parents, 
or anybody else, be sure to do it. Consider 
every opportimity of adding to the pleasure of 
others as of the highest importance, a?id do 710 1 
be imwilling to sacrifice soiiie enjoyme 7 it of 
your ow 7 i, eve 7 i soine dear playthhig, if by 
doing so you ca 7 i pro 77 iote the happhiess of 
others. If you follow this advice you will 7 iever 
be selfish or unge 7 ierous, and everybody will 
love you. 

Study all the lessons you have at school, 
a7id whc7i at home, hi the time when you are 
tired of play, read so 7 ne good books which will 
help to improve your 77ihid. ... If you will 
let Horace read this letter it will do the same, 
perhaps, as 07 ie addressed to him. Give my 
love to mother, a7id Mary, aiid the rest. 

Your affectionate brother, 

Charles. 


404 


BOOK OF ETIQUETTE 


ETIQUETTE OF BEAUTY 


During all civilized ages the art of 
beauty has been sedulously studied and 
practiced by the fair sex, women in all 
periods since the days of barbarism having 
sought to preserve and increase the charms 
bestowed by nature and carry the freshness 
of youth as far forward as possible into the 
domain of middle life and even of old age. 
Experience extended through many cen¬ 
turies has yielded numerous ‘ ‘ rules of con¬ 
duct ’ ’ in relation to physical hygiene and 
the care of the body, while physicians have 
learned much in respect to the preservation 
of health and beauty. How to keep a clean 
soul in a clean body is the first law of health. 
In the study of the fine arts there is nothing 
of more importance than the art of making 
a beautiful woman. It is this art with 
which we are at present concerned. Though 
no one can be taught how to convert ugli¬ 
ness into beauty, or to stay the footsteps of 
age, yet what share of attractiveness nature 
has given can in great measure be retained 
and enhanced, while, if the advance of age 
cannot be checked, its ravages may be alle¬ 
viated and its harshness softened by the 
employment of physical hygiene and refined 
care of the body which God has given us. 

How to Grow Old Gracefully. 

A charming old lady revealed the secret 
of her fair and rosy complexion to a group 
of young women as follows : “ Date hours,” 
said she, “and oversleeping ruin the com¬ 
plexion. Go to bed early, arise early, and 
you will grow old slowly, and retain your 
good looks to an advanced age. If, how¬ 
ever, your position forces you into society 
and you are obliged to be up late at night, 
sleep an hour every afternoon. Before 
going to bed take a hot bath and remain in 
the water only a few moments. Then drink 
a cup of bouillon, and a small glass of 
Malaga wine. Sleep will soon follow, and 
last until the natural time of awakening, 
which is about ten o’clock in the morning 
under these circumstances. Take a cold 
plunge or sponge bath, a light breakfast of 
wfS au lait , and bread without any butter.” 

She continued : ‘ ‘ Out-of-door exercise 


is an absolute necessity, but must not be 
carried to excess. A daily walk is excellent, 
and it is scarcely necessary to say that 
whole days of lawn tennis, croquet, etc., 
are not favorable to the complexion.” 

Care of the Body. 

Wear warm., light garments, to secure 
an even temperature. In winter it is even 
more important to protect the spine than 
the chest. Wear a silk sleeveless jacket 
next the skin, if you do not wish to wear 
a flannel one. At any rate, if you are deli¬ 
cate, young or old, cover the spine with a 
strip of flannel tied by a ribbon, and extend¬ 
ing to the hips. There will be no need to 
fear colds, bronchitis, or phthisis, if this pre¬ 
caution is taken, and it does not prevent 
wearing a decollette gown. 

Never wear tight clothing. It is in¬ 
jurious to health and beauty. The face be¬ 
comes congested when the organs are com¬ 
pressed, the hands swell, and get red, and 
the carriage awkward. Wear easy corsets, 
gloves, and shoes. 

To keep the pores of the skin open, one 
should bathe daily in cold or warm water; 
ill health and age are thus retarded. The 
result of uncleanliness is a flabby and un¬ 
wholesome condition. The well cleansed 
skin is soft, smooth, fresh ; a skin on which 
perspiration and dust have accumulated in 
layers becomes dry and feverish. But it 
may be said that it is not possible for the 
greater number of people to take a daily 
bath, as they lack the facilities and the 
time. The sponge bath—which is all suffi¬ 
cient for the purposes of cleanliness—re¬ 
quires only a few minutes each day. Once 
or twice a week at least, one should take 
the time necessary for a full bath. This is 
the very least attention our bodies require. 

Immersions and baths, with the aid of 
soap, lotions, etc., will render the body 
strong and flexible, and give it a power of 
resistance. Water has the virtue of dispell¬ 
ing fatigue and destroying the germs of dis¬ 
ease. While cleansing the body it purifies 
our souls and gives us “ a sound mind in a 
sound body.” 



MARVELLOUS AND WONDERFUL THINGS OF THE PRESENT CENTURY. 

Study this picture and discover the many forms in which electricity is represented : the wonderful 
power of steam ; the startling surprises in chemistry ; the modern ship with its propeller, 
and in the foreground the genius of industry who stands holding the tongs 












ONE OF THE HIGHEST MONUMENTS IN THE WORLD. 
The Washington Monument, the height of which is five hundred and fifty-five feet 

and most interesting structures in the United States. 


is one of the highest 























BOOK V] 



ONDERFUL and 
REMARKABLE 

THINGS AND 

FACTS 


W CAREFULLY CLASSIFIED 
M AND ARRANGED 




Striking Facts About the World’s Religions 

♦ 

Interesting Facts About Books and Authors 
Wonderful Truths About the Human Family 
Remarkable Historical Facts, Places and Events 
Some Wonderful Things in Nature 
Wonderful Works of Man 
Marvelous Facts About Small Living Creatures 
Curious Facts About Wood and Trees 


































WONDERFUL AND REMARKABLE 
THINGS AND FACTS. 


T HE world is full of wonderful and remarkable things and facts and we are all curious 
enough to want to look into them. They are instructive. They stimulate the 
imagination and create a genuine thirst for knowledge. With a view to instruct¬ 
ing and pleasing the reader, the following compendium of wonderful and remarkable things 
and facts has been carefully brought together, classified and grouped with extreme care 
and patience 


The Seven Bibles of the World. 

The chief sacred books of the world are 
the Scriptures of the Christians, the Tripi- 
taka of the Southern Buddhists, the Five 
Kings of the Chinese, the three Vedas of the 
Hindoos, the Koran of the Mohammedans, 
the Zendavesta of the Parsees, and the 
Eddas of the Scandinavians. 

The Koran is the most recent, having 
been written in the seventh century after 
Christ. It contains many excerpts from the 
Old and New Testaments and the Talmud. 

The Tripitaka contains sublime morals 
and pure aspirations. The author lived and 
died in the sixth century before Christ. 

The Five Kings contain wise sayings on 
the duties of life. The word “ King ” in 
the Chinese language means web of cloth. 
From this it is presumed that they were 
originally written on five rolls of cloth. 
They were written by a number of wise men 
some time not earlier than the eleventh cen¬ 
tury before Christ. 

The Vedas can not be proven to antedate 
the twelfth century before the Christian era. 

The Zendavesta is regarded among 
scholars as being the greatest and most 
learned of all sacred writings, excepting the 
Christian Bible. It was written by Zoroas¬ 
ter in the twelfth century before Christ. 

The Eddas, a semi-sacred work of the 
Scandinavians, was first given to the world 


in the fourteenth century but is probably 
much older. 

Moses is claimed to have written the 
Pentateuch at least i ,500 years before Christ; 
if so, that portion of the Christian Bible is 
at least 300 years older than any other sacred 
writings. 

The Nine Religions of the World, 

There are estimated to be 1,000 forms of 
religious worship practiced in the world. 
The following table shows the nine grand 
divisions or creeds, which are each subdi¬ 


vided into numerous sects : 

No. of 

Creeds. Followers. 

1. Christianity.500,000,000 

2. Worship of Ancestors and Confuci¬ 

anism .256,000,000 

3. Hinduism.190,000,000 

4. Mohammedanism.180,000,000 

5. Buddhism.147,900,000 

6. Taoism.43,000,000 

7* Shintoism.14,000,000 

8. Judaism. 8,000,000 

9. Polytheism.117,681,669 


Distribution of the People of the Christian 

Religion. 

The leading faiths are represented by 
these figures : Protestant Christians, 200,- 
000,000: Roman Catholic Christians, 195,- 
000.000; Greek Catholic Christians, 105.- 
000,000; non-Christians, 1,000.000,000 

407 












4oS 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


The Name of God in Forty=Eight 
Languages. 


Hebrew.. 

Chaldaic. 

Assyrian ...... 

Syrian and Turkish . 

Malay. 

Arabic. 

Languages of the Magi 
Old Egyptian .... 

Armenian. 

Modern Egyptian . . . 

Greek . 

Cretan. 

Aedian and Dorian . . 

Latin. 

Low Latin. 

Celtic Gaelic. 

French. 

Spanish. 

Portuguese. 

Old German. 

Provincial. 

Low Breton. 

Italian. 

Irish. 

Olotu tongue .... 
German and Swiss . . 

Flemish. 

Dutch. 

English. 

Teutonic. 

Danish and Swedish . 

Norwegian. 

Slav. 

Polish. 

Poiacca . 

Lapp. 

Finnish. 

Runic. 

Zemblian. 

Pannonian. 

Hindostanee . . . . . 

Coromandel. 

Tartar. 

Persian. 

Chinese. 

Japanese.. 

Madagascar. 

Peruvian ....... 


Eleah, Jehovah 
.... Eiliah 
.... Eleah 

.Alah 

.Alla 

.... Allah 

.Orsi 

.Teut 

.... Teuti 
.... Teun 
.... Theos 
.... Thios 

.Ilos 

.Deus 

.Diex 

.Diu 

.Dieu 

.Dios 

.Deos 

.Diet 

.Dion 

.... Done 

.Dio 

.Dia 

.Deu 

.Gott 

.God 

.God 

.God 

.Goth 

.Gud 

.Gud 

.... Buch 
..... Bog 
.... Bung 
. . . Jubinal 
. . . Jumala 

.As 

.... Fetiza 

.Istir 

.Rain 

. . . . Brama 
. . . Magatai 

.Sire 

. . . . Prussa 
. . . . Goezer 
. . . Zannar 
Puchecammae 


Mankind Naturally Religious. 

All men, wherever found, worship some 
higher power. Among the most savage 
races there exists some conception of a 
deity. Beginning with Fetishism—the wor¬ 
ship of animals, trees, insects, etc.—the re¬ 
ligious ideas advanced into personification 
and symbolism, and produced Idolatry or 
Paganism, and was an element of early civ¬ 
ilization. From this, in different lands, and 
among different races of men, diverged no¬ 
tions of religious theology, which eventually 
worked themselves into systems, generally 
based upon a personality, or individual God¬ 
head or mediator. The chief religions of the 
world are the Jewish, the Christian, the Mo¬ 
hammedan, the Brahman, the Buddhistic 
and the Zoroastrian. Buddhism has the most 
followers and Christianity next. Brahman¬ 
ism and Mohammedanism each have a little 
more than one-fourth as many as Chris¬ 
tianity. The Jewish religion comes next, 
and the Zoroastrians or Fire-worshippers the 
smallest number. It is not possible to 
attempt to do more than outline the dif¬ 
ferent faiths. 

The Jewish Religion is the oldest of 
all organized forms of worship. And the 
teachers of its tenets have influenced the 
Jewish people, keeping their stock pure and 
unmixed though they are scattered in all 
countries. 

In their religious observances modern 
Jews adhere to the rules of the Mosaic dis¬ 
pensation. Their service consists chiefly in 
reading the law in their synagogues, together 
with a variety of prayers. They abstain 
from the meats prohibited by the Levitical 
law, and they continue to observe the cere¬ 
monies of the Passover, as nearly as possible. 
They offer prayers for the dead, because 
they believe that the souls of the wicked go 
to a place of temporary punishment, where 
they remain under trial a year, and they 
think that very few will be condemned to 
suffer eternally. We give a summary of 
the confession of faith, in which all ortho¬ 
dox Jews must live and die. It is made up 
of thirteen articles, and was drawn up in the 
eleventh century by a celebrated rabbi 
named Maimonides. These articles declare 
in substance: (i) That there is one God. 


















































FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


409 


creator of all things, who may exist with¬ 
out any part of the universe, but without 
whom nothing can maintain existence ; (2) 
that God is uncompounded and indivisible, 
but different from all other unities ; (3) that 
God is an immaterial being, without any ad¬ 
mixture of corporeal substance; (4) that 
God is eternal, but everything else had a 
beginning in time; (5) that God alone 
ought to be worshipped, without mediators 
or intercessors; (6) that there have been 
inspired prophets, and may be more; (7) 
that Moses was the grandest prophet that 
ever appeared ; (8) that the law of Moses 
was in every syllable dictated by the 
Almighty, not only in its written letter but 
in traditionary exposition ; (9) that this law 
is immutable, neither to be added to nor di¬ 
minished ; (10) that God knows all our ac¬ 
tions and governs them as He will; (11) 
that the observance of the law is rewarded 
and its violation punished in this world, 
but in a greater degree in the next; (12) 
that a Messiah is yet to appear, the time of 
whose coming may not be prescribed or fore¬ 
told ; and (13) that God will raise the 
dead at the last day and pass judgment 
upon all. 

Fire=Worshippers.—The Parsees are at 
present the only devotees of Zoroaster, who 
is supposed to have founded the religion of 
the Fire-Worshippers about one thousand 
years before Christ. Its doctrines are set 
forth in the Zendavesta, the sacred books 
of the Parsees, who are supposed to have 
been the “ Magi” of the Scriptures. Like 
the Koran of Mohammed, the Zendavesta is 
made up of the so-called inspired visions of 
the prophet Zoroaster, who preached Mono¬ 
theism (one God), added to which were 
the principles of Good and Evil, having 
power over Men, the Good being recognized 
in the blazing flame, the Evil in the burned- 
out wood or charcoal ; Night and Day, 
Sleeping and Waking, Death and Life. 
The Fire-Worshippers believed in the res¬ 
urrection of the body, and held the idea of a 
Messiah, who was to be the awakener and 
mediator ; they also recognized the doctrine 
of future rewards and punishments, and the 
efficacy of the prayers of the Good, who 


would become immortal, while for the 
wicked the end was annihilation. 

Buddhism is the religion of China, 
Japan, the Malay Peninsula, and the Poly¬ 
nesian Islands, and governs the largest 
number of souls of any existing faith. 
Buddhism originated in northern Hindu¬ 
stan, in the sixth century B. C., and was 
founded by a Prince Siddliartha, Gautama, 
or Sakya (see Arnold’s “ Light of Asia ”). 
To this prince, after the period of his ascetic 
and mendicant life, was given the name 
“ Buddha,” meaning, “lie to whom truth 
is known,” and from which is derived the 
name of the sect. The Buddhist faith is 
based upon belief in the doctrine of the 
transmigration of souls, by which every in¬ 
dividual changes the nature of his existence 
at death, for better or for worse, in accord¬ 
ance with his behavior during that exist¬ 
ence, being thus exalted or degraded, 
through all imaginable forms, from a clod 
to a divinity. This faith accepts no ulti¬ 
mate creator, and only finds final rest or 
happiness in annihilation. 

riohammedanism. 

Though founded nearly 600 years after 
Christianity, Mohammedanism is a religion 
of the sword, conquering the mind and body 
rather than winning the heart. 

The Mohammedan religion was started 
by Mohammed, of the tribe of Koreish, who 
was born in Mecca in 570 A. d., though it 
was not until he had reached his fortieth 
year that he first discovered the gift of 
prophecy, and began to see visions. He 
thereafter preached the doctrines which he 
claimed to have received by direct inspira¬ 
tion, a id which are contained in the Koran, 
of winch translations in French, English, 
and German can be found in the public 
libraries. Mohammedanism is made up of 
parts of Judaism and Christianity, the theory 
of its founder being that he was one (but 
the greatest) of a series of prophets, includ¬ 
ing both Abraham and Christ. It comprises 
belief in one God—“ there is no God but 
God, and Mohammed is God’s Apostle.” 
It also peoples the unknown universe with 
angels — good and evil, and accepts the 
resurrection and the final judgment. It 


4 io 


FACTS FOR TIIE CURIOUS 


establishes a Paradise and seven Hells, the 
lowest and deepest of which is for the 
“Hypocrites: those who, outwardly pro¬ 
fessing a religion, in reality had none.” 
The Mohammedan belief further recognizes 
the inutility of ‘ ‘ works ’ ’ in influencing the 
final condition of man, assuming that it is 
not by these, but by God’s mercy, that he 
is saved, and not damned. Predestination 
is a part of the creed, man’s whole life and 
destiny being prefigured by Fate (Kismet). 
The efficacy of prayer is, however, estab¬ 
lished, and this form of worship enjoined 
upon “the Faithful;” this, with the sen¬ 
sual nature and characteristics of the Mo¬ 
hammedan Paradise, completes a superficial 
view of the peculiarities of this religion, as 
presented in the Koran. 

Fetishism is still practiced by certain 
tribes in Africa and by the Indians of the 
Arctic regions of America. 

Curiosities of the Bible. 

There is no date from beginning to end in 
the Bible. It comprises sixty six docu¬ 
ments, or books and is supposed to have 
been written by about forty men; The 
Book of Isaiah has sixty-six chapters ; 
fifty-four miracles are recorded in the Old and 
fifty-one in the New Testament; total 105. 
The shortest verse in the Old Testament is 
“Remember Lot’s wife.” The shortest 
one in the New Testament is John xi. 35, 
“Jesus wept,” in point of words, but not 
in letters, another verse is as short, viz : 
Thessalonians v. 16, “Rejoice evermore.” 
The longest verse is the ninth verse of the 
eighth chapter of Esther. Then there is 
one book, Esther, in which the Deity is 
not mentioned. 

The Bible contains 3,566,480 letters, 
773 746 words, 31,173 verses, 1,189 chapters 
and sixty-six books. The word “ and 
occurs 46,277 times. The word “Lord” 
occurs 1,855 times. The word “ Reverend ’ ’ 
occurs but once, which is in the ninth verse 
of the 1 nth Psalm. The middle verse is 
the eighth verse of the 118th Psalm. The 
2istverse of the seventh chapter of Ezra 
contains all the letters of the alphabet, except 
the letter J. There are no words or names 
of more than six syllables. 


A Description of flount Ararat. 

Ararat is divided into two peaks, Great 
Ararat on the northwest and Little Ararat 
on the southwest, whose bases blend while 
their summits are seven miles apart. The 
summit of Great Ararat is placed at 17,323 
feet above the level of the sea, and 14,320 
above its base; and for more than 3,000 feet 
below the summit it is always covered with 
ice and snow. Little Ararat is 13,000 feet 
above the sea level. The apex of Great 
Ararat was visited by Parrot, October 9, 
1829. Dr. Schaff, in common with Smith, 
says that Ararat in Scripture refers to the 
lofty plateau or mountain-highlands which 
overlook the plain of the Araxes. The same 
authority states that the mountains of 
Ararat (Gen. viii. 4) more properly refer to 
the entire range of elevated tableland in that 
portion of the Armenia, and that upon some 
lower part of this range, rather than upon 
the high peaks, the ark more probably 
rested ; and the following reasons are given 
in support of this view : This plateau or 
range is about 6,000 or 7,000feet high; it is 
equally distant from the Euxine and the 
Caspian Seas, and between the Persian Gulf 
and the Mediterranean, and hence a central 
point for the dispersion of the race ; the 
region is volcanic in its origin, does not rise 
into sharp crests, but has broad plains separ¬ 
ated by subordinate ranges of mountains; 
and the climate is temperate, grass and grain 
are abundant, and the harvests are quick in 
nature. These facts, he believes, illustrate 
the Bible narrative. 

New Testament Chronology. 

First published in 1899 by Zahn, the 
greatest of German Biblical scholars. 

Year 
a. D. 

Death and resurrection of Christ . . 30 

Events recorded, Acts i-viii. . . . 1-34 

Conversion of St. Paul. 35 

Three years’ sojourning of Paul in 
Damascus, interrupted once by a 
journey to Arabia, flight from 
Damascus. First visit to Jerusa¬ 
lem, and stay at Tarsus. 38 

Peter at Joppa and Coesarea, .... 40 

Luke a church member at Antioch, 

Paul brought from Tarsus to 




FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


Antioch, by Barnabas, either the 

summer or autumn of. 

Death of Janies, son of Zebedee. 
Imprisonment of Peter. Flight of 
the latter and other prophets from 

Jerusalem. 

Visit of Peter and others from Jeru¬ 
salem to Antioch. Fetter of St. 

James. 

First mission tour of Paul, spring 50 

to fall. 

Apostles convene in Jerusalem, be¬ 
ginning of. 

Start of second mission tour of St. 

Paul, spring of. 

Arrival at Corinth, about November, 
Epistle to the Galatians, beginning of 
First Epistle to the Thessalonians, 

spring of. 

Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, 

summer. 

Journey from Corinth to Ephesus, 
before Pentecost, about May . . 
Beginning of the third mission tour 
from Antiochia to Ephesus, prob¬ 
ably summer ......... 

Arrival at Ephesus, about February, 
Short visit to Corinth, from Ephesus. 
East Epistle of St. Paul to the 
Corinthians, end of 56 or begin¬ 
ning of. 

Letter of the Corinthians to St. Paul. 
First Epistle of Paul to the Corin¬ 
thians, Easter. 

Departure of Paul and Timothy from 
Ephesus by way of Troas to Mace¬ 
donia, about or after Pentecost . . 
Second Epistle to the Corinthians, 
about November or December . . 
Journey of Paul from Macedonia to 
Corinth, about New Year . . . 
Epistle to the Romans during a three 
months’ stay in Greece and Corinth- 
Journey by way of Macedonia, Troas, 
Miletus, etc., to Jerusalem, and 
beginning of Captivity in Caesarea. 

Defense before Festus. 

Departure from Caesarea, September. 
Arrival at Rome, March . • . . 

Epistles to the Ephesians, Collos- 
sians, and Philemon, summer of . 
Second Epistle of St. Peter .... 
Matthew writes his Aramaic Gospel. 


411 

Epistle to Philippians, summer of . 63 

Paul free again, late in summer of . 63 

Journey of Paul to Spain, fall 63 or 

spring. 64 

Arrival of Peter in Rome, fall 63 or 

spring. 64 

First Epistle of Peter, spring of . . 64 

Mark in Rome, engaged on the com¬ 
pletion of his Gospel, summer of . 64 

Persecution under Nero and cruci¬ 
fixion of Peter, fall of. 64 

Return of Paul from Spain and visita¬ 
tion of the Eastern congregation, 

I Timothy and Titus, spring to fall 65 

of Stay at Nicopolis, winter of , . . 65-66 

Return of Paul to Rome, spring of . 66 

Arrest of Paul. II Timothy ; sum¬ 
mer of. 66 

Paul beheaded, end of 66 or begin¬ 
ning of. 67 

Publication of Gospel of Mark, be¬ 
ginning . 67 

Departure of St. John and other 
Apostles to the province of Asia, 

beginning of . ,. 68 

Epistle of Jude, beginning .... 75 

Gospel and Acts of St. Luke, begin¬ 
ning .• • 75 

Epistle to the Hebrews, beginning . 80 

Origin of the Greek Matthew, be¬ 
ginning . . . .. 85 

Gospel and the Epistles of John, be¬ 
tween ..80-90 

Apocalypse of St. John, beginning . 95 

Death of St. John, beginning . . . 100 

Supposed Fate of the Apostles. 

The following brief history of the fate of 
the Apostles may be new to those whose 
reading has not been evangelical: 

St. Matthew is supposed to have suf¬ 
fered martyrdom,or was slain with the sword 
in a city of Ethiopia. 

St. Mark was dragged through the streets 
of Alexandria, in Egypt, till he expired. 

St. Luke was hanged upon an olive tree 
in Greece. 

St. John was put in a caldron of boiling 
oil at Rome and escaped death. He after¬ 
ward died a natural death at Ephesus in 
Asia. 

St. James the Great was beheaded at 
Jerusalem. 


43 

44 

50 

5i 

52 

52 

52 

53 

53 

53 

54 

54 

55 

57 

57 

57 

57 

53 

53 

53 

60 

60 

61 

62 

62 

62 
























412 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


St. James the Less was thrown from a 
pinnacle or wing of the temple and then 
beaten to death with a fuller’s club. 

St. Philip was hanged up against a pillar 
at Hieropolis, a city of Phrygia. 

St. Bartholomew was flayed alive by the 
command of a barbarous king. 

St. Andrew was bound to a cross, whence 
he preached unto the people till he expired. 

St. Thomas was run through the body 


with a lance at Coromandel, in the East 
Indies. 

St. Jude was shot to death with arrows. 

St. Simon Zealot was crucified in Persia, 

St. Matthias was first stoned and then 
beheaded. 

St. Barnabas was stoned to death by 
Jews at Salania. 

St. Paul was beheaded at Rome by the 
tyrant Nero. 


ABOUT BOOKS AND WRITERS OF BOOKS 


Names for Different Sizes of Books. 

The name indicates the number of pages 
in the sheet, thus : In a folio book, 4 pages 
or 2 leaves = 1 sheet; a quarto, or 4to., 
has 8 pages or 4 leaves to a sheet; an octavo, 
or 8vo., 16 pages or 8 leaves to a sheet. 
In a i2mo., 24 pages or 12 leaves =1 
sheet, and the i8mo., 36 pages or 18 leaves 
= 1 sheet, and so on. The following are 
the approximate sizes of books : 


Demy. 

Super Imp. Quarto (4 to) 


Crown 4to 


i2mo. 


19 

inches X 

12 

18 

4 4 

X 11 

I5X 

I2>^ 

< 4 

X 13 

4 4 

X 

10 

IlX 

44 

X 

sx 

II 

a 

X 

8 

IC>X 

4 < 

X 

6 X 

9'A 

4 i 

X 

6 

9 

4 ( 

X 

5 A 

7 A 

4 i 

X 

4X 

7 

4 4 

X 

4 

7 

4 4 

X 

4 

6X 

4 4 

X 

4 

4K 

4 4 

. X 

3X 

5 A 

4 4 

X 

3 A 

5 

4 4 

X 


5 

44 

X 

3 

4 

4 4 

X 

2X 

ZY 

4 4 

X 

2 X 


Assumed Names of Well-known 

Writers. 

Many of the greatest men and women of 
the literary world have placed upon the title 
pages of their books, and signed their con¬ 
tributions with an assumed name, or nom de 
plume. The following table will identify 
most of such authors of note. For conve¬ 
nience, the men and women writers are en¬ 
tered on separate lists : 


NOM DE PEUME. 

A Country Pari on, 
Agate, 

Alfred Crowquill, 
Americus, 

Artemus Ward, 

Asa Trenchard, 

Barry Cornwall, 

Benauly, 

Besieged Resident, 

Bill Arp, 

Blythe White, Jr., 
Bookworm, 

Boston Bard, 

Boz, 

Brick Pomeroy, 
Burleigh, 

Burlington, 

Carl Benson, 

Chartist Parson, 

Chinese Philosopher, 
Chrystal Croftangry, 
Country Parson, 
Danbury Newsman, 
Diedrich Knickerbocker 
Dow, Jr., 

Dr. Syntax, 

Dunn Browne, 

Edmund Kirke, 

Elia, 

Eli Perkins, 

English Opium-Eater, 
Ettrick Shepherd, 
Eugene Pomeroy, 
'■Falconbridge, 

Fat Contributor, 

Father Prout, 

Frank Forrester, 

Gath, also Daertes, 

Geoffrey Crayon, 

George Fitzboodle, 
George Forest, 

Hans Breitmann, 

Hans Yokel, 

Harry Hazell, 


REAL, NAME. 

Archbishop Whately. 
Whitelaw Reid. 

A. H. Forrester. 

Dr. Francis Lieber. 
Charles F. Browne. 
Henry Watterson. 

Bryan Walter Proctor. 
Benjamin Austin, and 
Ryruan Abbott. 

Henry Dabouchere. 
Charles H. Smith. 

Solon Robinson. 

Thomas F. Donnelly. 
Robert S. Coffin. 

Charles Dickens. 

Mark M. Pomeroy. 
Rev. Matthew Hale 
Smith. 

Robert Saunders. 

Charles A. Bristed. 

Rev. Charles Kingsley. 
Oliver Goldsmith. 
vSir Walter Scott. 

A. K. H. Boyd. 

J. M. Bailey. 

, Washington Irving. 
Elbridge G. Page. 
William Combe. 

Rev. Samuel Fiske. 
James Roberts Gilmore. 
Charles Lamb. 

Matthew D. Random 
Thomas DeOuincey. 
James Plogg. 

Thomas F. Donnelly. 
Jonathan F. Kelly. 

A. M. Griswold. 

Francis Mahoney. 

Henry W. Herbert, 
f George Alfred Tow 11- 
l send. 

Washington Irving. 
William M. Thackeray. 
Rev. J. G. Wood. 

Charles Godfrey Deland. 
A. Oakley Hall. 

Justin Jones. 






















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FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


413 


NOM DE PLUME. 
Harry Lorrequer, 
Hibernicus, 

Historicus, 

Hosea Bigelow, 
Howadji, 

Howard, 

Hyperion, 

Ik Marvel, 


REAL NAME. 

Charles Lever. 

De Witt Clinton. 

/ William G. Vernon Har- 
l court. 

James Russell Lowell. 
George William Curtis. 
Mordecai Manuel Noah. 
Josiah Quincy. 

Donald G. Mitchell, 
f Rev. S. Irenseus Prime, 
l D. D. 

William Gilmore Simms. 
Dr. Dollinger. 

J. C. Goldsmith. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Izaak Walton. 

J. C. Garrctsou. 

C. H. Webb. 


Irenseus, 

Isabel, 

Janus, 

Jay Charlton, 

Jedediah Cleishbotham, 

John Chalk hill, 

John Darby, 

John Paul, 

John Phoenix,Gentleman,George H. Derby. 

Josh Billings, Henry W. Shaw. 

Joshua Coffin, H. W. Longfellow. 

Kirwan, Rev. Nicholas Murray. 

K. N. Pepper, James M. Morris. 

Laicus, Rev. Lynian Abbott. 

Launcelot Wag^taffe, Jr., Charles Mackay. 
Lemuel Gulliver, Jonathan Swift. 

Major Jack Downing, Scba Smith. 


Mark Twain, 

Max Adler, 

M. Quad, 

Mrs. Partington, 

M. T. Jug, ' 

Ned Buntline, 

Nym Crinkle, 

Old Bachelor, 

Old Cabinet, 

Old Humphrey, 

Old ’Un, 

Oliver Optic, 
Ollapod, 

Orpheus C. Kerr, 
Owen Meredith, 

Parson Brownlow, 

Paul Crevton, 

Pen Holder, 

Pequot, 

Perley, 

Peter Parley. 

Peter Pindar, 
Petroleum V . Nasby, 
Phoenix, 

Poor Richard, 

Porte Crayon, 


Samuel L- Clemens. 
Charles H. Clark. 

Charles B. Lewis. 

B. P. Shillaber. 

Joseph Howard. 

Edward Z. C. Judson. 

A. C. Wheeler. 

George William Curtis. 
R. Watson Gilder. 
George Mogridge. 
f Francis Alexander Duri- 
\ vage. 

William Taylor Adams. 
Willis G. Clark. 

Robert H. Newell. 

Lord Lytton. 

JWm. Gunnaway Brown¬ 
ie low. 

J. T. Trowbridge. 

Rev. Edward Eggleston. 
Charles W. March. 

Benj. Perley Poore. 

,S. C. Goodrich. 

Dr. John Wolcot. 

D. R. Locke. 

Sir Henry Martin. 
Benjamin Franklin. 
David H. Strother. 


Private Miles O’Reilly, Charles G. Halpine. 


Robinson Crusoe, 
Runnymede, 
Rustic Bard, 

Sam Slick, 
Sparrowgras, 
Teufelsdroeckh, 
Teutha, 

The Black Dwarf, 
The Celt, 


Daniel Defoe. 

Lord Beacousfield. 
Robert Dinsmore. 
Thomas C. Halliburton. 
F. S. Cozzens. 

Thomas Carlyle. 

William Jerdan. 

Thomas J. Wooler. 
Thomas Davis. 


NOM DE PLUME. 

The Druid, 

The Governor, 

The Traveller. 

Theodore Taylor, 

Thomas Ingoldsby, 
Thomas Little, 

Thomas Rowley, 

Timon Fieldmouse, 
Timothy Tickler, 
Timothy Titccmb, 

Tom Brown, 

Tom Folio, 

Tom Hawkins, 

Trinculo, 

Tristam Merton, 

Two Brothers, 

Ubique, 

Uncle Hardy, 

Uncle John, 

Uncle Philip, 

Uncle Toby, 

Veteran Observer, 
Vigilant, 

Vivian, 

Vivian Joyeux, 

Walter Maynard, 
Warhawk, 

Warrington, 

Warwick, 

Waters, 

What’s ITis Name, 
Wilibald, Alexis, 

Wizard, 

NOM DE PLUME. 

Amy Lothrop, 

American Girl Abroad, 
Aunt Kitty, 

Aunt Mary, 

Christopher Crowfield, | 

Cousin Alice, 

Cousin Kate, 

Charles Egbert Craddock 


Currer Bell, 

Dolores, 

E. D. E. N. 

Eleanor Kirke, 
Elizabeth Wetherell, 
Ella Rodman, 

Ellis Bell, 

Fanny Fern, 

Fanny Fielding, 
Fanny Forester, 

Florence Percy, 

Gail Hamilton, 
George Eliot, 

George Sand, 

Grace Greenwood, 
Grace Wharton, 
Harriet Myrtle, 


1 


{ 


REAL NAME. 

Henry H. Dixon. 

Henry M or ford. 

Isaac Stary. 

J. C. Hotten. 

Rev. R. H. Barham. 
Thomas Moore. 

Thomas Chatterton. 
William B. Rands. 

Robert Syme. 

Dr. J. G. Holland. 

Thomas Hughes. 

Joseph E. Babson. 
Theodore W. A. Buckley 
John A. Cockerill. 

Thomas B. Macaulay. 

A. and C. Tennyson. 
Parker Gilmore. 

William Senior. 

Elisha Noyce. 

Rev. Dr. F. L. Hawks. 
Rev. Tobias H. Miller. 

E- D. Mansfield. 

John Corlett. 

George II. Lewes. 

W. M. Praed. 

William Beale. 

William Palmer. 

W. P. Robinson. 

F. O. Otterson. 

William H. Russell. 

E. C. Massey. 

William Haeriug. 

John Corlett. 

REAL NAME- 
Miss Anna B. Warner. 
Miss Trafton. 

MariaJ. Mackintosh. 
Mary A. Lathbury. 

Mrs. Harriet Beecher 
Stowe. 

Mrs. Alice B. Haven. 
Catherine D. Bell. 

,Miss Murfree. 

Charlotte Bronte (Mrs. 

Nichols.) 

Miss Dickson. 

Mrs. Emma D. E. 

South worth. 

Mrs. Nolly Ames. 

Susan Warner. 

Mrs. Eliza Rodman. 
Emily J, Bronte. 

Mrs. James Parton. 
MaryJ. S. Upsher. 

Emily C. Judson. 

Mrs. Elizabeth Akers 
Allen. 

Miss Mary Abigail Dodge. 
Mrs. Marian Lewes Cross. 
Mine. Amantine Lucille 
Aurore Dudevant. 

Mrs. Sarah J. Lippincott. 
A. T. Thompson. 

Mrs. Lydia F. F. Miller 


N. 


{ 




414 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS' 


NOM DE PECJME. 

Hesba Stretton, 
Howard Glyndon, 

Ian the, 

Jennie June, 

John Oliver Hobbs, 
John Strange Winter, 
Kate Campbell, 
Louise Muhlbach, 
Marion Harlaud, 
Minnie Myrtle, 
Mintwood, 

Octave Thanet, 
Olivia, 

Ouida, 

Patty Lee, 

Perdita, 

Saxe Holm, 

Shir!ey Dare, 

Sophie May, 

Sophie Sparkle, 
Straws, Jr., 

Susan Coolidge, 

Una, 


REAE NAME. 

Miss Hannah Smith, 
Laura C. Redden. 
Emma C. Embury, 

Mrs. Jennie C. Croly. 
Mrs. Perry Cragie. 

Mrs. Stannard. 

Jane Elizabeth Lincoln. 
Clara Mundt. 

Mary V. Terhune. 

Miss Anna C. Johnson. 
Miss Mary A. E. Wager. 
Miss Alice French. 
Emily Edson Grigg. 
Louisa De La Rame. 
Aiice Cary. 

Mrs. Mary Robinson. 
Miss Rush Ellis. 

Mrs. Susan D. Waters, 
Mrs. Eckerson. 

Jennie E. Hicks. 

Kate Field. 

Miss Woolsey. 

Mary A. Ford, 


Great Men’s Reading. 

Beethoven was fond of history and novels. 

Cowper read only his Bible and his 
prayer-book. 

Hallam said that Livy was the model 
historian. 

Chopin rarely read anything heavier 
than a French novel. 

Auber hated reading, and never read 
save under compulsion. 

Caesar Borgia had a library of works 
relating mostly to art. 

Titian read his prayer - book and the 
Metamorphoses of Ovid. 

Voltaire’s favorite classical author was 
Juvenal, the satirist. 

Rossini, for nearly thirty years, read 
nothing but French novels. 

Jean Paul Ric ter had only five or six 
books, all philosophical. 

Paul Veronese thought there was no 
book equal to the “Ameid.” 

Lord Clive said that ‘ ‘ Robinson Crusoe ” 
beat any book he ever read. 

Franklin read all he could find relating 
to political economy and finance. 

Michael Angelo was fondest of the Books 
of Moses and the Psalms of David. 

Bach was no great reader, but much 
enjoyed books of jokes and funny stories. 

Hogarth was fond of joke-books and 
farces, and enjoyed them immoderately. 

Cherubini was a lover of botany, and 


made collections of works on the subject. 

Mario, the great tenor, read anything he 
could obtain relating to sports or hunting. 

George III., for many years of his life, 
read nothing but his Bible and prayer-book. 

“Papa” Hadyn liked stories, and he 
said, “ The more love there is in them the 
better.” 

St. John Chrysostom never tired of read¬ 
ing or of praising the works of the Apostle 
John. 

Da Vinci read Pindar, and thought him 
the noblest poet who ever wrote in any 
language. 

Swift made a special study of the Latin 
satirists, and imitated their style and lan¬ 
guage.. 

Heine seldom read anything but poetry, 
but he read that with the most scrupulous 
attention. 

Baxter read only the Bible, and best 
enjoyed the Prophecies of Isaiah and the 
Psalms. 

Wordsworth was fond of the poetry of 
Burns, but said the latter was too rough 
and uncouth. 

Moliere was a reader of romances. His 
plays give many evidences of his excellent 
memory. 

Wagner was a close student of musical 
history, and made that line of reading a 
specialty. 

Bulwer - Lytton’s favorite author was 
Horace. He always carried a small edition 
in his pocket. 

Charles II., of England, delighted in 
Chaucer, and thought him the greatest poet 
that ever lived. 

Carlyle had a very large library, relating 
principally to German and French literature 
and history. 

Lablache, the stout basso, was a student 
of botany, and had quite a collection of 
botanical works. 

Tennyson was a close student of the old 
English tales, and had a large 1 brary of such 
literature. 

Landseer was a student of anatomy and 
zoology, and made collections of books on 
these subjects. 

James I., of England, was a lover of the 
classics, and very familiar with most of the 
Latin writers. 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


415 


Bunyan read little besides his Bible, and 
often said that Christians would do well to 
read no other book. 

Vandyke, the painter, was fond ot the 
Decameron, and often, in conversation, 
quoted from its pages. 

Bolingbroke was a warm admirer of the 
French philosophical writers, and had a 
large collection of their works. 

Hannah More made a collection of edu¬ 
cational works, and read extensively on the 
line of female education. 

Cardinal Richelieu once said that Tibul¬ 
lus, the Latin erotic poet, was the most 
natural of all the ancients. 

Louis XIV. thought that Ovid’s “Art 
of Love” was one of the most charming 
books that had ever been written. 

Goethe once said that his literary life was 
determined oy a volume of folk-lore tales he 
read when a child. 

Julius Caesar was a close student of 
Homer, and said that all military science 
was comprised in its pages. 

David, the French historical painter, was 
a student of French history, to the exclu¬ 
sion of almost all other reading. 

Salvator Rosa liked any kind of poetry, 
but more especially that relating to the 
country or to country scenes. 

Mrs. Siddons gave much attention to the 
history of the drama, and had an extensive 
library of this kind of matter. 

Tolstoi is said to have a large library of 
sociology, and to read attentively any book 
bearing on some new social fad. 

Addison’s specialty was the history of 
medals and coins, and he eagerly perused 
anything treating of this subject. 

Mendelssohn was a close student of Jew¬ 
ish history and remarkably well informed as 
to every particular of Jewish annals. 

Twelve Greatest Books of the 
Nineteenth Century. 

The following are generally conceded to 
be the twelve greatest books of the nine¬ 
teenth century: Darwin’s, “Origin of the 
Species Hegel’s “ Logic,” and “ Philos¬ 
ophy of Religion;” Goethe’s, “Faust;” 
Emerson’s, “Essays;” Harriet Beecher 
Stowe’s,” Uncle Tom’s Cabin ;” Sir Walter 


Scott’s, “Historical Novels;” William 
Wordsworth’s, “Poems;” Alfred Tenny¬ 
son’s, “In Memoriam ;” Victor Hugo’s, 
“Les Miserables ;” John Ruskin’s,“Modem 
Painters;” Thomas Carlyle’s, “Sartor Re- 
sartus;” Strauss’, “ Life of Jesus.” 

Newspapers in the United States and the 

World. 

In 1775 there were only twenty-seven 
newspapers published in the United States. 
Ten years later, in 1785, there were seven 
published in the English language in Phila¬ 
delphia alone, of which one was a daily. 
The oldest newspaper published in Phila¬ 
delphia at the time of the Federal conven¬ 
tion was the Pennsylvania Gazette , estab¬ 
lished by Samuel Keimer, in 1728. The 
second newspaper in point of age was the 
Pennsylvania Journal established in 1742 
by William Bradford, whose uncle, Andrew 
Bradford, established the first newspaper in 
Pennsylvania, the American Weekly Mercury, 
in 1719. Next in age, but the first in im¬ 
portance, was the Pennsylvania Packet , 
established by John Dunlap in 1771- In 
1784 it became a daily, being the first daily 
newspaper printed on this continent. 

Newspapers for the Year 19oo. 

Rowell’s “ American Newspaper Direc¬ 
tory ” for 1900 reports the number of news¬ 
papers published in the United States and 
Canada as 21,789. Of these, 924 were Can¬ 
adian publications. The following was 
the frequency of issue: Weekly, 15,375; 
monthly, 2,939; daily, 2,279; semi-monthly, 
296; semi-weekly, 470; quarterly, 180; bi¬ 
weekly, 76; bi-monthly, 68; tri-weekly, 52 
—total, 21,789. 

The total number of 7 iewspapers puo- 
lished in the world at present is estimated 
at about 50,000, distributed as follows: 
United States and Canada, 21,789; Ger¬ 
many, 7,000; Great Britain, 9,000; France, 
4,300; Japan, 2,000; Italy, 1,500; Austria- 
Hungary, 1,200; Asia, exclusive of Japan, 
1,000; Spain, 850; Russia, 800; Australia, 
800 ; Greece, 600 ; Switzerland, 450 ; Hol¬ 
land, 300; Belgium, 300; all others, 1,000. 
Of these more than half are printed in the 
English language. 


416 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


Lubbock’s List of the Hundred Best 

Books. 

The Bible. 

Confucius, Analects. 

Aristotle, Ethics. 

Apostolic Fathers. 

Pascal, Pensles. 

Comte, Positive Philosophy. 

Jeremy Taylor, Holy Living. 

Keble, Christian Year. 

Plato’s Dialogues. 

Demosthenes’ De Corona. 

Horace, Poems. 

Homer, Iliad, and Odyssey. 

Virgil, Aeneid. 

Malory, Morie d' Arthur. 

Haha-Bharata, Ram ay ana. 

Aeschylus, Prometheus. 

Sophocles, Edipus, Trilogy. 
Aristophanes, The Knights. 

Xenophon, Anabasis. 

Tacitus, Germania. 

Gibbon, Decline and Fall. 

Grote, Greece. 

Smith, Wealth of Nations. 

Humboldt, Travels. 

Shakespeare. 

Dante, Divina Commedia. 

Dry den’s Poems. 

Gray, Poems. 

Wordsworth, Poems. 

Pope, Poems. 

Swift, Gulliver's Travels. 

Arabian Nights. 

Burke, Political Writings. 

The English Essayists. 

Sheridan, Dramas. 

Smiles, Self Help. 

George Eliot, Adam Bede. 

Marcus Aurelius, Meditations. 

Green, Short History of England. 

Mill Logic and Political Economy. 
Descartes, Discours sur la Methode. 
Lewes, History of Philosophy. 

Goethe’s Faust and Wilhelm Meister. 
Thackeray, Vanity Fair and Pendennis 
Bulwer-Lytton, Last Days of Pompeii. 
Thomas a Kempis, Imitation. 

Spinoza, Traclatus Theologico-Politicus. 
Bunyan, Pilgrim's Progress. 

Epictetus, Philosophy. 

(St. Hilaire), Le Bouddha. 


Mahomet, Koran. 

Butler, Analogy. 

Aristotle, Politics. 

Lucretius, Philosophical Poems 
Plutarch, Lives. 

Nibelungen Lied. 

She-king (Chinese Odes'). 

Firdusi, Shah-Nameh. 

Trilogy , or Persae. 

Euripides, Medea. 

Herodotus, History. 

Thucydides, History. 

Livy, History. 

Hume, England. 

Bacon, Novum Organum. 

Darwin, Origin of Species. 

Locke, On the Understanding 
Cook, Voyage. 

Milton, Paradise Lost. 

Spenser, Feerie Queene. 

Chaucer, Canterbury Tales. 

Burns, Poems. 

Scott, Poems. 

Heine, Poems and Tales. 

Goldsmith, Vicar. 

Southey, Poems. 

Defoe, Robinson Crusoe. 

Cervantes, Don Quixote. 

Boswell, fohnson. 

Moliere, Dramas. 

Voltaire, Zadig. 

Carlyle, Past and Present. 

Kingsley, Westward Ho ! 

Scott, Novels. 

Kingsley, Heroes ; Water Babies. 
Hawthorne’s Tanglewood Tales. 
Hawthorne’s Wonder Book. 

Kingsley’s Madame How and Lady Why. 
Marryatt, faphet i?i Search of a Father. 
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. 
Lanier, Boy's King Arthur. 

Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 

Irving, Knickerbocker's New York. 
Cicero, De Officiis , De Amicitia and De 
«. Senectute. 

Carlyle, French Revolution. 

Berkeley, Human Knowledge. 

Darwin, Naturalist in the Beagle. 

White, Natural History of Selbourne. 
Miss Austen, Emma, or Pride and Preju¬ 
dice. 

Dickens, Pickwick and David Copper- 
field. 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


417 


The Ten Greatest 

Preachers. 

Paul. 

Spurgeon. 

Whitefield. 

Beecher. 

Massillon. 

Fuller. 

Bossuet. 

Taylor. 

Luther. 

Knox. 

The Ten Greatest Philosophers. 

Aristotle. 

Descartes. 

Plato. 

Berkeley. 

Seneca. 

Hamilton. 

Bacon. 

Le Comte. 

Locke. 

Spencer. 

The Ten Greatest 

Reformers. 

Luther. 

John Huss. 

Wycliffe. 

Savonarola. 

Calvin. 

Cranmer. 

Wesley. 

Melanchthon. 

Knox. 

Zwingli. 

The Ten Greatest 

Historians. 

Herodotus. 

Thucycides. 

Gibbon. 

Livy. 


Hume. 

Tacitus. 

Macaulay. 

Hallam. 

Brancroft. 

Froude. 

The Ten Greatest Poets. 

iEschylus. 

Tasso. 

Homer. 

Dante. 

Virgil. 

Milton. 

Chaucer*. 

Shakespeare 

David. 

Camoens. 

The Ten Greatest 

Painters. 

Michael Angelo. 

Reynolds. 

Raphael. 

Da Vinci. 

Titian. 

Veronese. 

Rubens. 

Guido. 

West. 

Rembrandt. 

The Ten Greatest 

Sculptors. 

Phidias. 

Flaxman. 

Praxiteles. 

Thorwaldsen. 

Michael Angelo. 

Donatello. 

Cellini. 

Powers. 

Canova. 

Crawford. 


THINGS REMARKABLE AND CURIOUS 


The Largest Bell in the world is the great 
bell of Moscow, at the foot of the Kremlin. 
Its circumference at the bottom is nearly 68 
feet, and its height more than 21 feet. In 
its stoutest part it is 23 inches thick, and its 
weight has been computed to be 443,772 
pounds. It has never been hung, and was 
probably cast on the spot where it now 
stands. A piece of the bell is broken off. 
The fracture is supposed to have been occa¬ 
sioned by water having been thrown upon it 
when heated in consequence of the building 
erected over it being on fire. 

The Largest Theatre in the world is the 
new Opera-house in Paris. It covers nearly 
three acres of ground ; its cubic mass is 
4,287,000 feet; it cost about 100,000,000 
francs. The largest suspension bridge is the 
one between New York City and Brooklyn ; 
the length of the main span is 1,595 f eet 6 
inches; the entire length of the bridge is 
5,980 feet. The loftiest active volcano is Po- 
pocatapetl—‘ ‘ smoking mountain ’ ’—thirty- 
five miles southwest of Puebla, Mexico ; it 
is 17,748 feet above the sea-level, and has a 
crater three miles in circumference, and 
27 H Iv 


i ,000 feet deep. The longest span of wire in 
the world is used for a telegraph in India 
over the River Kistnah. It is more than 
6,000 feet in length, and is 1,200 feet high. 

The Greatest Fortress from a strategical 
point of view, is the famous stronghold of 
Gibraltar. It occupies a rocky peninsula 
jutting out into the sea, about three miles 
long and three-quarters of a mile wide. One 
central rock rises to a height of 1,435 feet 
above the sea-level. Its northern face is 
almost perpendicular, while its east side is 
full of tremendous precipices. On the south 
it terminates in what is called Europa Point. 
The west side is less steep than the east, and 
between its base and the sea is the narrow, 
almost level span on which the town of Gib¬ 
raltar is built. The fortress is considered 
impregnable to military assault. The regu¬ 
lar garrison in time of peace numbers about 
7,000. 

The Biggest Cavern is the Mammoth 
Cave, in Edmonson County, Kentucky. It 
is near Green River, about six miles from 
Cave City, and twenty-eight from Bowling 
Green. The cave consists of a succession of 


4 i8 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 




irregular chambers, some of which are large, 
situated on different levels. Some of these 
are traversed by the navigable branches of 
the subterranean Echo River. Blind fish 
are found in its waters. 

The Longest Tunnel in the world is that 
ol the St. Gothard, on the line of railroad be¬ 
tween Lucerne and Milan. The summit of 
the tunnel is 900 feet below the surface at 
Andermatt, and 6,600 feet beneath the peak 
of Kastlehorn, of the St. Gothard group. 
The tunnel is 26% feet wide, and is 18 feet 
10 inches from the floor to the crown of the 
arched roof. It is 9^ miles long. 

The Biggest Trees in the world are the 
mammoth trees of California. One of a 
grove in Tulare County, according to meas¬ 
urements made by members of the State 
Geological Survey, was shown to be 276 
feet in height, 108 feet in circumference at 
base, and 76 feet at a point 12 feet above 
ground. Some of the trees are 376 feet 
high, and 34 feet in diameter. Some of the 
largest that have been felled indicate an age 
of from 2,000 to 2,500 years. 

The Largest Library is the Bibliotheque 
National, in Paris, founded by Louis XIV. 
It contains 1,400,000 volumes, 300,000 pam¬ 
phlets, 173,000 manuscripts, 300,000 maps 
and charts, and 150,000 coins and medals. 
The collection of engravings exceeds 1,300,- 
000. contained in some 10,000 volumes. 

The Largest Desert is that of Sahara, a 
vast region of Northern Africa, extending 
from the Atlantic Ocean on the west to the 
valley of the Nile on the east. The length 
from east to west is about 3,000 miles, its 
average breadth about 900 miles, its area 
about 2,000,000 square miles. In summer 
the heat during the day is excessive, but 
the nights are often cold. 

First Things. 

The first steamboat plied the Hudson in 
1807. 

The first sawmakers’ anvil was brought 
to America in 1819. 

The first use of a locomotive in this 
country was in 1820. 

Kerosene was first used for lighting pur¬ 
poses in 1826. 

The first horse railroad was built in 
1826-7. 


The first lucifer match was made in 

1829. 

The first iron steamship was built in 

1830. 

The first steel pen was made in 1830. 

Omnibuses were introduced in New 
York in 1830. 

Ships were first ‘ ‘ copper-bottomed ’ ’ in 
1837- 

Envelopes were first used in 1839. 

Anaesthetics were discovered in 1844. 

The first steel-plate was made in 1830. 

The entire Hebrew Bible was printed in 
1488. 

Gold was first discovered in California 
in 1848. 

Christianity was introduced into Japan 
in 1549. 

First almanac printed by George Von 
Furback in 1460. 

Percussion arms were used in the United 
States Army in 1830. 

The first glass factory in the United 
States was built in 1780. 

The first complete sewing-machine was 
patented by Elias Howe, Jr., in 1846. 

The first temperance society in this 
country was organized in Saratoga County, 
N. Y., in March, 1808. 

The first daily newspaper appeared in 
1702. The first newspaper printed in the 
United States was published in Boston on 
September 25, 1790. 

The first telegraph instrument was suc¬ 
cessfully operated by S. F. B. Morse, the 
inventor, in 1835, though its utility was not 
demonstrated to the world until 1842. 

The first Union flag was unfurled on the 
1st of January, 1776, over the camp at Cam¬ 
bridge. It had thirteen stripes of white 
and red, and retained the English cross in 
one corner. 

When Captain Cook first visited Tahiti, 
the natives were using nails of wood, bone, 
shell, and stone. When they saw iron nails, 
they fancied them to be shoots of some very 
hard wood, and, desirous of securing such 
a valuable commodity, they planted them 
in their gardens. 

In 1750 the “shoe-black” came into 
vogue. The poet Gay, in his day, refers to 
the business, and describes a mother as in¬ 
structing her son in this calling. 


pacts for the curious 


419 


The 19 th Century in a Nutshell. 

The Nineteenth century received from its 
predecessors the horse; we bequeathed the 
bicycle, the locomotive, and the motor car. 

We received the goose quill and be¬ 
queathed the typewriter. 

We received the scythe and bequeathed 
the mowing machine. 

We received the hand printing press ; 
we bequeathed the cylinder press. 

We received the painted canvas; we 
bequeathed lithography, photography and 
color photography. 

We received the hand-loom; we be¬ 
queathed the cotton and woolen factory. 

We received gunpowder ; we bequeathed 
lyddite. 

We received the tallow dip; we be¬ 
queathed the electric lamp. 

We received the galvanic battery ; we 
bequeathed the dynamo. 

We received the flint-lock; we bequeathed 
Maxims. 

We received the sailing ship; we be¬ 
queathed the steamship. 

We received the beacon signal fire ; we 
bequeathed the telephone and wireless teleg¬ 
raphy. 

We received ordinary light; we be¬ 
queathed Roentgen rays. 

The Paris Exposition of 1900 . 

The Paris Universal International Ex¬ 
position of 1900 was formally declared open 
by President Eoubet April 14, and closed 
its doors November 12. During its exist¬ 
ence 50,000,000 paying visitors passed 
through its gates. The largest attendance 
in one day was 600,000. (The number of 
paying visitors at the Chicago Fair of 1893 
was 27,529,000 ; the largest number of visit¬ 
ors in one day over 700,000.) The French 
exhibitors at Paris were naturally the most 
numerous and received the largest number 
of prizes, but the following is a statement 
of the awards to the exhibitors of the four 
foreign nations having the largest repre¬ 
sentation : 

In the electrical department, Group 5, the 
United States led the world, receiving 94 awards, 
of which 6 were grand prizes. Germany came 
next in this section, but received only 49 prizes. 

In transportation the United States led, receiv¬ 
ing 130 awards, with Germany next, 123 prizes, and 


Great Britain third, having 119 prizes. There 
were many surprises when the final awards were 
made, and none more so than in the Department 
of Foodstuffs, Group 10, in which Italy surpassed 
all other nations, with 306 awards. The United 
States came fifth, with 177 awards. 


Nation. 

Grand Prix. 

Gold. 

Silver. 

N 

a 

0 

1-4 

» 

Honorable 

Mention. 

Total 

Awards. 

Total No. Ex¬ 

hibitors. 

United States 

215 

547 

593 

501 

348 

2,204 

6,916 

Germany . . 

236 

5 io 

575 

321 

184 

1,826 

2,689 

England . . 

183 

406 

517 

410 

208 

1,727 

2,959 

Russia . . . 

209 

346 

411 

321 

206 

1.493 

2,285 


In Group 11, Mining and Metallurgy, the United 
States surpassed all nations. This American dis¬ 
play was a magnificent one, commanding the ad¬ 
miration of every visitor, and the awards were 133, 
of which 34 were grand prizes. 

The jury of final appeal in the matter of prizes 
to be awarded by ttie Exposition Management 
closed its work in September. The statement pre¬ 
pared for the United States committee shows that 
America received the highest number of awards of 
any nation save France, and that she also received 
more awards in each classification, except grand 
prizes, in which Germany secured 236, against the 
United States 215. These figures, excepting for 
France, are shown in above table. 

Owners of Land in America. 

Nearly 22,000,000 acres of land are 
owned by men who owe allegiance to other 
governments. To be exact, there are 
21,241,900 acres of land under the direct 
control and management of thirty foreign 
individuals or companies. There are 2,720,- 
283 acres of land in Massachusetts, so that 
the men living in other countries and owing 
allegiance to other powers own land enough 
to make about ten States like Massachusetts, 
more than the whole of New England, more 
land than some governments own to sup¬ 
port a king. The largest amount of land 
owned by any one man or corporation is 
by a company called the Holland Land 
Company. There is twice as much land 
owned by aliens in the United States as 
there is owned by Englishmen in Ireland. 

Principal Battles of the Civil War. 

Dates, Commanders, and Number 
Killed on Both Sides. 

Bull Run (first), July 21, 1861—North, 
General McDowell; killed, 481; South, 



















420 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


General Beauregard ; killed, 269. Shiloh, 
April 7, 1862—North, General Grant; 

killed, 1,735; South, General A. S. John¬ 
ston; killed, 1,728. Seven Pines and Fair 
Oaks, May 31 and June 1, 1862—North, 
General McClellan; killed, 890; South, 
General J. E. Johnston ; killed, 2,800. 
Seven Days, June 25-July 1, 1862—North, 
General McClellan; killed 1582 ; South, 
General Eee ; killed unknown. Seco?idBull 
Run , August 29-30, 1862—North, General 
Pope ; South, General Eee ; no exact esti¬ 
mate. Antictam , Sept. 16 and 17, 1862— 
North, General McClellan; killed, 2,010; 
South, General Eee ; killed, 3,500. Corinth, 
October 3-4, 1862—North, General Rose- 
crams ; killed, 315; South, General Van 
Dorn ; killed, 1,423. Perryville , October 8, 

1862— North, General Buell; killed, 820; 
South, General Bragg; killed, 1,300. 
Fredericksburg , December 11—15, 1862— 
North, General Burnside; killed, 1128; 
South, General Eee; killed, 1,200. Mur¬ 
freesboro , December 31, 1862, January 1, 

1863— North, General Rosecrans ; killed, 
1,474; South, General Johnston; killed, 
unknown. Chancellorville , May 2 and 3, 

1863— North, General Hooker; killed, 
1,512; South, General Eee; killed, 1,581. 
Gettysburg , July 1, 2 and 3, 1863—North, 
General Meade ; killed, 2,834 I South, Gen¬ 
eral Eee; killed, 3,500. Vicksburg, July 3 
and 4, 1863—North, General Grant; killed, 
545 ; South, General Pemberton; killed, 
unknown. Chickamauga , Sept. 19-23, 1863 
—North, General Thomas; killed, 1,644; 
South, General Bragg ; killed, 2,389. Look¬ 
out Mountain and Missio7iary Ridge, Novem¬ 
ber 23-25, 1863—North, General Grant; 
total loss, 4,000 ; South, General Bragg ; 
total loss, 4,000. Wilderness, May 5-7, 

1864— North, General Grant; killed, un¬ 
known; South, General Eee; killed, un¬ 
known. Spottsylvania, May 8-18, 1864— 
North, General Grant; killed, 2,261 ) 
South, General Eee; killed, unknown. 
Cold Harbor, June 1, 1864—North, General 
Grant; total loss, 10,000; South, General 
Eee ; total loss, 8,000. Franklin, Novem¬ 
ber 3Q; 1864—North, General Schofield; 
killed 189 ; South, General Hood ; killed 
175c. Nashville, December 1-14, 1864— 
North, General Thomas; total loss, 6,500; 


South, General Hood ; total loss, 23,000. 
Five Forks, April 1, 1865; North, General 
Grant; total loss, 7,000; South, General 
Eee ; total loss, 15,000. 

Growth of the United States. 

This country began the present century 
with 5,308,483 people. In the year 1810 
the population was 7,239,881, an increase of 
36.28 per cent. ; in 1820 it was 9,633,822, 
an increase of 33.66 per cent. ; in 1830 it 
was 12,866,020, an increase of 32.51 per 
cent. ; in 1840 it was 17,069,453, an in¬ 
crease of 32.52 per cent. ; in 1850 it was 
23,191,876, an increase of 35.83 per cent. ; 
in i860 it was 31,443,321, an increase of 
35.11 per cent. ; in 1870 it was 3 8 >55 8 ,37U 
an increase of 22.65 P er cent. ; in 1880 it 
was 50,154,783, an increase of 30.08 per 
cent.; in 1890 it was 62,622,250, an increase of 
about 28 per cent. ; in 1900 it was 76,295,- 
220. This is exclusive of the islands of 
Porto Rico, the Hawaiian and the Phillip- 
pine islands, which bring about 10,000,000 
more people under our dominions. 

This great growth is shown by a few 
comparisons. The British Islands began 
the present century with three times as 
many people as the United States, and yet 
its present population is less than three- 
fifths of our own. Of all the civilized coun¬ 
tries, Russia has the most people, but at our 
rate of increase it will not be many years 
before this country passes Russia. Another 
interesting fact is that the English language 
is spreading twice as rapidly as any other 
tongue, so that the future promises to the 
United States not only leadership in popu¬ 
lation, but in the language of the world. 

In this connection it will be interesting 
to compare and note 

How the Great Powers Have Changed 
Rank in 100 Years. 

The change of the seats of power will 
be seen by a comparison of the relative 
populations of 1800 and 1900. 

In 1800 the great powers of the world were thus 


grouped: 

Russia.38,140,000 

France.27,720,000 

Germany.22,330,000 

Austria.21,230,000 

United Kingdom.15,570,000 








*•- 

THE CLOCK THAT TOLD THE STORY. 

(Copyright, 1902, Judge Publishing Company.) 

After the eruption of Mont Pelee in 1902, among the ruins was found the clock in the Hospital of St. 
Pierre, with the hands pointing to 7.50, which indicated the time at which the city was 

overwhelmed. 

























ita 


TELEPAO/IE 


ELECTRIC MOTOR 


P/iO/iO QR/^PA 


INTERESTING AND MARVELLOUS INVENTIONS. 


The use of electricity has become so common that every home may have its electric light and its tele¬ 
phone. Many homes are now entertained by the phonograph, a mechanical invention 

which reproduces the human voice in many forms. 























































FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


421 


Italy .13,380,000 

Spain.10,440,000 

United States. 5,310,000 

In the year 1900 we have the following figures: 

Russia.130,896,628 

United States.76,295,220 

Germany.53,000,000 

Austria-Hungary.42,660,906 

United Kingdom . 49 . 559,954 

France. 33 , 517,975 

Italy.31,000,000 

Spain .18,250,000 


Of this population the English-speaking races 
in Great Britain and Ireland, wi'h the Eng¬ 
lish-speaking colonies, and the United States, 
number 130,000,000, offsetting Russia's 130,896,628. 


Politics of the Presidents. 


The subjoined table will be found inter¬ 
esting as a reference to many of our read¬ 
ers. Of course, the name of Washington 
heading the list does not mean that he was 
the candidate of any party or faction, but is 
placed there to complete the roll: 


Name. 

George Washington 
John Adams .... 
Thomas Jefferson . . 
James Madison . . 
James Monroe . . . 
John Quincy Adams 
Andrew Jackson . . 
Martin Van Buren . 
William H. Harrison 

John Tyler. 

James K. Polk . . . 
Zachary Taylor . . 
Millard Fillmore . . 
Franklin Pierce . . 
James Buchanan . . 
Abraham Lincoln . 
Andrew Johnson . . 
U. S. Grant .... 
R. B. Hayes .... 
James A. Garfield 
Chester A. Arthur . 
Grover Cleveland 
Benj. Harrison . . . 
Grover Cleveland . . 
William McKinley . 
William McKinley . 


. April 30, 1759 
, March 4, 1797 
. March 4, 1801 
March 4, 1809 
March 4, 1817 
. March 4, 1825 
March 4, 1829 
March 4, 1837 
March 4, 1841 
. April 6, 1841 
March 4, 1845 
March 5, 1849 
. July 9, 1850 
. March 4, 1853 
March 4, 1857 
March 4, 1861 
April 15, 1865 
. March 4, 1869 
March 5, 1877 
March 4, 1881 
Sept. 20, 1881 
. March 4, 1885 
March 4, 1889 
March 4, 1893 
March 4, 1897 
March 4, 1901 


Politics. 

Unanimous. 

Federal. 

Democrat. 

Democrat. 

Democrat. 

Compromise 

Democrat. 

Democrat. 

Whig. 

Whig. 

Democrat. 

Whig. 

Whig. 

Democrat. 

Democrat. 

Republican. 

Republican. 

Republican. 

Republican. 

Republican. 

Republican. 

Democrat. 

Republican. 

Democrat. 

Republican. 

Republican. 


Education of Presidents. 


Washington—Fair English education. 
Adams—Harvard College. 

Jefferson—William and Mary. 
Madison—Princeton College. 

Adams, J. Q.—Harvard College. 
Jackson—Limited education. 

Van Buren—Academic course. 


Harrison, W. H.—Hampden College. 

Tyler—William and Mary. 

Polk—University of North Carolina. 

Taylor—Slight, the rudiments. 

Fillmore—Limited education. 

Pierce—Bowdoin College. 

Buchanan—Dickinson College. 

Lincoln—Education limited. 

Johnson—Self-educated. 

Grant—West Point. 

Hayes—Kenyon College. 

Garfield—Williams College. 

Arthur—Union College. 

Cleveland—Hamilton College. 

Benj. Harrison—Miami University. 

McKinley—Allegheny College. 

Religion of the Presidents. 

All of our Presidents except Jefferson 
were members of churches or were men who 
revered Christianity. Adams married a 
minister’s daughter, and was inclined to 
Unitarianism. Jefferson was not a believer, 
at least while he was Chief Magistrate. 
Madison’s early connections were Presby- 
tarian. Monroe is said to have favored the 
Episcopal Church. John Quincy Adams 
was like his father. Jackson was a Presby¬ 
terian and died in the communion of that 
church. Van Buren was brought up in the 
Reformed Dutch Church, but afterward in¬ 
clined to the Episcopal Church. Harrison 
leaned toward the Methodist Church, and 
Tyler was an Episcopalian. Polk was bap¬ 
tized by a Methodist preacher after his term 
of office expired. Taylor was inclined to 
the Episcopal communion. Fillmore at¬ 
tended the Unitarian Church, and Franklin 
Pierce was a member, but not a communi¬ 
cant, of a Congregational Church at Con¬ 
cord. Buchanan was a Presbyterian, as 
was also Benjamin Harrison. General 
Grant attended the Methodist Church, and 
President Garfield the Church of the Disci¬ 
ples. Cleveland, the son of a Presbyterian 
minister, remained in that faith, while Mc¬ 
Kinley, from boyhood, was an active worker 
in the Methodist Church. Roosevelt is a 
member of the Dutch Reformed Church. 

Cabinet Facts of Interest. 

There were six Secretaries of State 
who afterward became Presidents, namely. 

















422 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, John Quincy 
Adams, Van Buren, and Buchanan. Mon¬ 
roe was Secretary of War for a short time 
after he had served in the State Depart¬ 
ment, and General Grant was Secretary of 
War ad interim. There have been no Sec¬ 
retaries of the Treasury, the Navy, or the 
Interior, nor any Postmasters or Attorney- 
Generals who have become President. Jeff 
Davis was Secretary of War under President 
Pierce. 

Salaries of United States Officers, Per 

Annum. 

President, Vice-President and Cabi¬ 
net. —President, $50,000 ; Vice-President, 
$8,000 ; Cabinet Officers, $8,000 each. 

United States Senators. — $5,000 
with mileage. 

Congress.— Members of Congress, $5,000 
with mileage. 

Supreme Court. —Chief Justice, $10- 
500; Associate Justices, $10,000. 

Circuit Courts. —Justices of Circuit 
Courts, $6,000. 

Heads of Departments. —Supt. of 
Bureau of Engraving and Printing, $4,500; 
public printer $4,500 ; Supt. of Census, 
$6,000 ; Supt. of Naval Observatory, $5,000 ; 
Supt. of the Signal Service, $4,000; Direc¬ 
tor of Geological Surveys, $6,000; Director 
of the Mint, $4,500 ; Commissioner of General 
Eand Office, $4,000; Commissioner of Pen¬ 
sions, $5,000 ; Commissioner of Labor, $5000 ; 
Commissioner of Indian. Affairs, $4000; 
Commissioner of Education, $3,000; Com¬ 
mander of Marine Corps, $3,500; Supt. of 
Coast and Geodetic Survey, $6,000. 

United States Treasury. —Treasurer, 
$6,000 ; Register of Treasury, $4,000 ; Comp¬ 
troller of Customs, $4,000. 

Post-Office Department Washington. 
— Four Assistant Postmaster-Generals, 
$4,000; Chief Clerk, $2,500. 

Postmasters. —Postmasters are divided 
into four classes. First class, $3,000 to 
$4,000 (excepting New York City, which is 
$8,000); second class, $2,000 to $3,000; 
third class, $1,000 to $2,000; fourth class 
less than $1,000. The first three classes-are 
appointed by the President, and confirmed 
by the Senate; those of fourth class are ap¬ 
pointed by the Postmaster-Geneial. 


Diplomatic Appointments.— Ambas¬ 
sadors , at $17,500, to France, Great Britain, 
Germany, Mexico and Russia. Envoys 
Extraordhiary and Ministers Plenipotentiary , 
at $12,000; to Austria-Hungary, Brazil, 
China, Italy, Japan and Spain; at $10,000 
to Argentine Republic, Belgium, Chili, 
Columbia, Guatemala, Nicaragua, Peru, 
Netherlands, Turkey and Venezuela; at 
$7,500 ; to Denmark, Hayti, Paraguay and 
Uruguay, Portugal, Sweden and Norway, 
Switzerland; at $5,000; to Bolivia, Ecquador; 
at $6,500; to Greece. Ministers Resident at 
$7,500 ; Corea and Siam ; at $5,000 : Persia. 
Then four Consuls-Generals at $6,000, three 
at $5,000, six at $4,000, and eight at $3,500 
to $2 ,oooj; also seventy-two Consuls at $1,000 
up to $3,500. 

Army Officers. — General, $13,500; 
Lieut.-General, $11,000; Major-General, 
$7,500; Brigadier-General, $5,500; Colonel, 
$3,500; Lieut.-Colonel, $3,000; Major, 
$2,500; Captain, mounted, $2,000; Captain, 
not mounted, $1,800; Regimental Adjutant, 
$1,800; Regimental Quartermaster, $1,800; 
First Lieutenant, mounted, $1,600; First 
Lieutenant, not mounted, $1,500; Second 
Lieutenant, mounted, $1,500; Second Lieu¬ 
tenant, not mounted, $1,400; Chaplain, 
$1,500. 

Navy Officers. — Admiral, $13,500; 
Vice-Admiral, $9,000; Rear-Admirals, 
$6,000; Commodores, $5,000; Captains, 
$4,500; Commanders, $3,500 ; Lieut.-Com¬ 
manders, $2,800 ; Lieutenants, $2,400 ; Mas¬ 
ters, $1,800; Ensigns, $1,200 ; Midshipmen, 
$1,000; Cadet Midshipmen, $500; Mates, 
$900 ; Medical and Pay Directors and Medi • 
cal and Pay Inspectors and Chief Engineers .. 
$4,400; Fleet Surgeons, Fleet Paymasters, 
and Fleet Engineers, $4,400 ; Surgeons and 
Paymasters, $2,800; Chaplains, $2,500. 

Popular and Electoral Votes for 
Presidents. 


YEAR 

1832.. , 

1832.. . 
1832... 

1832.. . 

1836.. . 
1836... 
1836... 
1836... 

1836.. . 

1840.. . 

1840.. . 


CANDIDATES 

Andrew Jackson.... 

Henry Clay. 

John Floyd. 

William Wirt.. 

Martin Van Buren. 

W. H. Harrison. 

Hugh L. White. 

Daniel Webster. 

W. P. Mangum. 

Martin Van Buren 
W, H. Harrison. 


Popular Elec’l 
Vote Vote 


PARTY 

.Democrat. 687,502 

Nat. Republican... 530.189 

.Whig. 

.Whig. 

.Democrat. 761,549 

Whig. 

.whif'. f 736 > 658 

Whig.J 

.Democrat.1,128,702 

.Whig.1,275,017 


219 

49 

11 

7 

170 

r 73 
26 

14 

11 

48 

234 


































FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


423 


TEAK 


CANDIDATES 


PARTY 


Popular Elec’l 
Vote Vote 


1852.John P. Hale.. 


1864. 

1868. 


.U. S. 


1872.U. S. 


1876. 


1876.G. C. 


1884.James G. Blaine. 

1884.Bej j. F. Butler... 

1884.John P. St. John. 


1888. 

1388. 


1896.Wm, 

1896.Wm. 

1896.John 


M. 


1896. 

1900. 

1900. 


.C. H. 


Democrat. 


170 

Whig.. 

...1,299,06a 

105 

Whig. 

..1,360,101 

163 

Democrat. 

-1,220 544 

127 

Free Soil.. 

... 291,263 


Democrat. 

-1,601,474 

254 

Whig. 


42 

Free Soil. 

... 156,149 


.Democrat. 

—I,838’l69 

174 

.Republican. 

-1,341,262 

114 

.American. 

... 874,534 

8 

.Republican. 

-.1,866*352 

180 

.Democrat. 

-1,375,157 

12 

Democrat. 

... 845,763 

72 

.Union. 

... 589,581 

89 

.Republican. 

...2,216,067 

212 

.Democrat. 

...1,808,725 

21 

.Republican. 

...3.015,071 

214 

.Democrat. 

...2,709,613 

80 

.Republican. 

-3,597,070 

286 

.Liberal and Dem.,2,834,079 


.Prohibition. 

... 5,608 


.Republican. 

...4,038,950 

185 

.Democrat. 

...4,284,885 

184 

.Greenback. 

... 81,740 


.Prohibition. 

... 9522 


.Repubiican,. 

-4,449,053 

214 

.Democrat. 

...4,442,035 

155 

.Greenback. 

... 307,306 


. Democrat. 

...4,911,017 

219 

.Republican. 

...4,848,334 

182 

• Greenback. 

... 133,825 


•Prohibition. 

... 151,800 


.Republican. 

...5,441,902 

233 

.Democrat. 

-5,538,560 

168 

Prohibition. 

... 249,937 



... 147,521 


Democrat. 

...5,553,142 

277 

.Republican. 

...5,186,931 

145 

.People’s. 

...1,030,128 

22 

Prohibitory. 

... 268,361 


.Republican. 

...7,107,980 

271 

Democrat. 

...6,-509,056 

176 

.Gold Democrat.. 

... 132,056 


•Prohibition. 

... 127,174 


Socialist- Labor.. 

... 36,426 


• Republican. 

...7,263,266 

292 

• Democrat. 

...6,415,887 

155 


Eleven Great Wonders in America. 

Croton Aqueduct, in New York City. 

City Park, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. 
The largest park in the world. 

Lake Superior. The largest lake in the 
world. 

Mammoth Cave, in Kentucky. 

Niagara Falls. A sheet of water three- 
quarters of a mile wide, with a fall of 175 
feet. 

Natural Bridge, over Cedar Creek, in 
Virginia. 

New State Capitol, at Albany, N. Y. 

New York and Brooklyn Bridge. 

The Central Park, in New York City. 

Washington Monument, Washington, 
D. C., 555 feet high. 

Yosemite Valley, California; fifty-seven 
miles from Coulterville. A valley from eight 
to ten miles long, and about one mile wide. 
Has very steep slopes about 3,500 feet high ; 


has a perpendicular precipice 3,089 feet 
high ; a rock almost perpendicular, 3,270 
feet high ; and waterfalls from 700 to 1,000. 

Noted American Trees. 

The big tree of California. 

“ Old Liberty Elm,” at Boston. 

“ The Burgoyne Elm,” at Albany, N. Y. 

The immense ash trees planted by Gen¬ 
eral Washington at Mount Vernon, and now 
the admiration of visitors. 

The weeping-willow over the grave of 
Cotton Mather in Cop’s burying-ground, 
near Bunker Hill, taken from a tree that 
shaded the grave of Napoleon at St. Helena. 

The Cary tree, planted by the roadside 
in 1832 by Alice and Phoebe Cary, is a large 
sycamore, standing on the turnpike from 
College Hill to Mount Pleasant, Hamilton 
County, Ohio. 

The Washington elm still stands at Cam¬ 
bridge, Mass. It is on Garden street, a short 
distance from the colleges, and is a large, 
well-preserved tree. An iron fence is built 
around it, and on a stone in front is the fol¬ 
lowing inscription : ‘ ‘ Under this tree George 
Washington took command of the American 
Army, July 3, 1775.” 

The Great Famines of History. 

Walford mentions 160 famines since the nth 
century, namely : England, 57 ; Ireland, 34; Scot¬ 
land, 12; France, 10; Germany, 11 ; Italy, etc., 36. 
The worst in modern times have been : 


Country. Date. No. of Victims. 

France.1770 48,000 

Ireland.1847 1,029,000 

India.1866 1,450,000 


Deaths from hunger and want were recorded as 
follows in 1879, according to Mulhall : Ireland, 
3,789 ; England, 312 ; London. 101 ; France, 260. 
The proportion per 1,000 deaths was, respectively, 
37.6, .6, 1.2, .3* „ 


Remarkable Plagues of Modern Times. 


Date. Place. 

Deaths. 

Weeks. 

Deaths 
per Week 

1656 . Naples. 


28 

13,600 

1665 . London. 


33 

2,100 

1720 . Marseilles .... 

. 39,100 

36 

1,100 

1771 . Moscow. 

. 87,800 

32 

2,700 

1778 . Constantinople . 

. 170,000 

18 

9 ) 5 °° 

1798 . Cairo. 

. 88,000 

25 

3.500 

1812 . Constantinople. . 

. 144,000 

13 

11,100 

1834 . Cairo. 

. 57,000 

18 

3,200 

1835 . Alexandria . . . 

. 14,900 

17 

900 

1871 , Buenos Ayres . , 

. 26,300 

11 

2,400 




































































































































































424 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


Great Financial Panics. 

The most remarkable crises since the 

beginning of the present century have been 

as follows : 

1814. "England, 240 banks suspended. 

1825. Manchester, failures 2 millions. 

1831. Calcutta, failures 15 millions. 

1837. United States, “Wild-cat” crisis; 
all banks closed. 

1839. Bank of England saved by Bank of 
France. Severe also in France, 
where 93 companies failed for 6 
millions. 

1844. England. State loans to merchants. 
Bank of England reformed. 

1847. England, failures 20 millions; dis¬ 
count 13 per cent. 

1857 United States, 7,200 houses failed for 
hi millions. 

1866 Eondon, Overend-Gurney crisis ; fail¬ 
ures exceeded 100 millions. 

1869. Black Friday in New York (Wall 
street), September 24th. 

1873. Many banks failed, and great com¬ 
mercial enterprises where driven 
to the wall in the United States. 

j $93-95. The money question of a silver 
and gold, or the single gold stand¬ 
ard was greatly agitated, and the 
United States passed through a 
financial crisis which wrecked thou¬ 
sands of business firms and brought 
on a disastrous financial stringency. 

The Greatest Floods in History. 

The Thames destroyed a great number 
of the inhabitants of its banks, nine years 
after Christ; another which destroyed all 
the inhabitants in Ferae Island, seven miles 
southwest from Holy Island, 323; 5,000 
people lost in Cheshire b3 r an eruption, 353 ; 
another of the Dee which drowned forty 
families, 415 ; an inundation of the sea in 
Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex, 575 ; an inun¬ 
dation at Edinburgh, which did great dam¬ 
age, 73 ° I an inundation at Glasgow, which 
drowned above 400 families, 738 ; an inun¬ 
dation of the Tweed, which did immense 
damage, 836 ; an inundation of the Medway, 
861; an inundation at Southampton, which 
destroyed many people, 935 ; an inundation 
of the Severn, which drowned hundreds 
of cattle, 1046; the sea overflowed 4,000 


acres of Earl Godwin’s land, in Kent, since 
called Godwin Sands, 1100 ; a great part of 
Flanders overflowed by the sea, 1108; dn 
inundation of the Thames for above six 
miles at Lambeth, 1243; another, since 
named the Dollert Sea, 1277 ; at Winchel- 
sea 300 houses were overthrown by the sea, 
1280; 120 laymen, and several priests, be¬ 
sides women, were drowned by an inunda¬ 
tion at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, 1339; at the 
Texel, which first raised the commerce of 
Amsterdam, 1400 ; the sea broke in at Dort, 
and drowned 72 villages and 100,000 peo¬ 
ple, and formed the Zuyder Sea, 1421 ; in 
1530 the Holland dykes broke, 400,000lost; 
in February, 1735, at Dagenham, and upon 
the coast of Essex, which carried away the 
sea walls, and drowned several thousand 
sheep and black cattle; in Spain, and did 
3,000,000 livres damage, at Bilboa, April, 
1762 ; at Naples, where it carried away a 
whole village, and drowned 200 of the in¬ 
habitants, November 10, 1773; * n Spain, 
Navarre, September, 1787, where 2,000 lost 
their lives, all the buildings of several vil¬ 
lages carried away by the currents from the 
mountains; a terrible inundation by the 
Liffey, in Ireland, which did very consider¬ 
able damage in Dublin and its environs, 
November 12, 1787 ; at Kirkwald, in Scot¬ 
land, by breaking the Dam-dykes, October 
4, 1788, which nearly destroyed the town; 
almost throughout England by the melting 
of the snow, and the greater part of the 
bridges were either destroyed or damaged, 
Februarjq 1795 ; at St. Domingo, which 
destroyed 1,400 persons, October, 1800; on 
the coast of Holland and Germany, Novem¬ 
ber, 1801 ; in Dublin and parts adjacent, 
December 2 and 3, 1802 

The Johnstown Flood , in June, 1889, at 
Johnstown, Pa., was caused by the break¬ 
ing of a dam on the upper waters of the 
Conemaugh River, which confined a great 
lake on top of the Alleghany Mountains. 
The flood swept down the valley faster than 
a railroad train in speed. Several small 
towns and the city of Johnstown were swept 
away, and 6,111 persons perished. 

The Galveston Flood. — In September, 
1900, a hurricane along the southern coast 
of the United States reached the climax of 
its fury near Galveston, Texas, at 1 o’clock 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


425 


at night, literally blowing the Gulf waters 
over the island on which Galveston is situ¬ 
ated, causing a loss of life and property 
unparalleled by any similar disaster in the 
United States. The city of Galveston was 
well-nigh annihilated, 7,000 lives being lost, 
and $30,000,000 worth of property destroyed 
in the city and near by on the mainland. 
This appears the more frightful in view of 
the fact that less than 40,000 souls inhabited 
Galveston. Thousands escaped by clinging 
to the wreckage of houses and ships which 
the wind blew far inland on the high tide. 
About $1 ,000,000 was subscribed for relief 
throughout the country, and the rebuilding 
of the city was begun promptly after the ruins 
were sufficiently cleared away. 


The Greatest World’s Fairs. 


WHERE HELD 

Year. 

Area 

Cov¬ 

ered.* 

Exhi¬ 

bitors 

Visitors .f 

Days 

Open. 

Receipts! 



Acres 





London. 

1851 

21 

13,937 

6,039,195 

141 

$1,780,000 

Paris. 

1855 

24^ 

20,839 

5,162,330 

200 

644,100 

London. 

1862 

2sy 2 

28.653 

6,211,103 

171 

1,614,260 

Paris. 

1867 

37' 

50,226 

8,805,969 

217 

2,103,675 

Vienna. 

1873 

40 

50,000 

6,740,500 

186 

1,032,385 

Philadelphia. 

1876 

60 

30,864 

10,164,489 

159 

3,813,724 

Paris. 

1878 

60 

40,366 

16,032,723 

194 

2,531,650 

Svdney. 

1879 

26 

9,315 

1,117,536 

210 

200,000 


1880 



1,330,279 

210 


Fisheries Exhibi- 






tion, London. 

1883 

9 

3,000 

2,703,051 

147 

585,000 

Health Exhibition, 







London. 

1884 



4,153,390 

151 

892,545 

Inventions Exhibi- 






tion London. 

1885 



3,760,581 

163 

750.000 

Colonial and Inland, 






UonHon. 

1880 

13 


5,550,745 

164 

1,025,000 


1888 



5,748.379 

161 

566,330 

Paris. 

1889 

75% 

55,000 

28,149,353 

185 

8.300,000 

Chicago. 

1893 

633 


27,539,521 

184 

14,000,000 


1900 


75,501 

50,000,000 

212 


Buffalo. 

1901 






* Buildings and covered structures. 

f The 1 irgest number of visitors in any one day was 400,000 
in 18S9 in Paris, and 716,881 in Chicago in 1893, and 600,000 in 
Paris in 1900. It will be noticed that the Paris Exposition of 
1900 admitted the largest number of paying visitors 50,000,000 
—ever attending any exposition, almost doubling thetotal num¬ 
ber of paying visitors attending the Chicago Exposition. 

The Highest Buildings, Monuments, etc. 

Feet. 


Eiffel Tower, Paris. 

Washington Monument . . . . 
City Hall, Philadelphia, Pa. . . 
Pyramid, Cheops, Egypt . . . 

Cathedral, Cologne. 

‘ ‘ Antwerp. 

“ Strassburg . . . , . 

Tower, Utrecht. 

Steeple, St. Stephen’s, Vienna . 
Pyramid, Khafras, Egypt . » » 


. . 989 

. • 555 

• • 548 

• • 543 
. . 5 1 ! 
. . 476 

. • 474 

. . 464 

. . 460 

• t 45^ 


St. Martin’s Church, Bavaria .... 456 

Chimney, Port Dundas, Glasgow . . 454 

St. Peter’s, Rome.448 

Notre Dame, Amiens.422 

Salisbury Spire, England ...... 406 

Cathedral, Florence.380 

“ Cremona.372 

“ Freiburg.367 

St. Paul’s, London.365 

Cathedral, Seville.360 

Pyramid, Sakkarah, Egypt.356 

Cathedral, Milan.355 

Notre Dame, Munich.348 

Invalides, Paris.347 

Parliament House, London.340 

Cathedral, Magdeburg.337 

St. Patrick’s New York.328 

St. Mark’s, Venice.328 

Statue of Liberty, New York . . . . 321 

Cathedral, Bologna.306 

“ Norwich, Eng.309 

“ Chichester, Eng.300 

“ Lincoln, Eng.300 

St. James’ Cathedral, Toronto . . . - 316 

Capitol, Washington.* 300 

Trinity Church, New York .... - 283 

Cathedral, Mexico.280 

“ Montreal . ..280 

Campanile Tower, Florence.276 

Column, Delhi.260 

Cathedral, Dantzic.250 

Porcelain Tower, Nankin.248 

Custom House, St. Louis.240 

Canterbury Tower, England.235 

Notre Dame, Paris.232 

Chicago Board of Trade.230 

St. Patrick’s, Dublin.226 

Cathedral, Glasgow.225 

Bunker Hill Monument.220 

Notre Dame, Montreal.220 

Cathedral, Lima.220 

“ Rheims.220 

“ Garden City, L. 1 .219 


St. Peter and Paul, Philadelphia, Pa. . 210 
Washington Monument, Baltimore . . 210 

Famous Giants and Dwarfs. 

The most noted giants of ancient and 
modern times are as follows: 

Name. Place. Height, Feet. Period. 

Goliath .... Palestine 11.0 B. C. 1063. 
Galbara .... Rome 9‘9 Claudius Caesar. 
John Middleton, England 9.3 A. D. 1578. 




















































































426 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


Name Place. Height, Feet. Period. 

Frederick Swede, Sweden 8.4 . 

Cajanus .... Finland . 7.9 . 

Gilly.Tyrol . . 8.1 . 

Patrick Cotter . Cork . . 8.7 1806. 

Chang Gow . . Pekin . . 7.8 1880. 

Many of the great men of history have 
been rather small in stature. Napoleon was 
only about five feet four inches, Washington 
was five feet seven inches. One of the great¬ 
est of American statesmen, Alexander H. 
Stephens, never excelled 115 pounds in 
weight, and in his old age his weight was 
less than 100 pounds. 

The more notable human mites are named 
below: 


Name. Height, inches. 

Date of Birth. 

Place of Birth 

Count Borowlaski 

39 

1739 

Warsaw. 

Tom Thumb (Chas. 
S. Stratton) . . . 

3 i 

1837 

New York. 

Mrs. Tom Thumb . 

3 2 

1842 

( i 

Che-Mah. 

25 

1838 

China. 

Lucia Zarate . . . 

20 

1863 

Mexico. 

General Mite . . . 

21 

1864 

New York. 


Remarkable Genius in Youth. 

Handel had produced an opera before he 
was fifteen. 

Corneille had planned a tragedy before 
he was ten. 

Auber wrote an operetta for the stage 
before he was fourteen. 

Pitt was Chancellor of the Exchequer 
before he was twenty-five. 

Schiller was widely known as a poet be¬ 
fore the age of twenty. 

Kaulbach at seventeen was pronounced 
the first artistic genius in Germany. 

Kant began his philosophical and meta¬ 
physical speculations before the age of eigh¬ 
teen. 

Goethe had produced a considerable 
number of poems and several dramas before 
he was twenty. 

Raphael showed his artistic abilities at 
the early age of twelve, when he was widely 
known as an artist in oil. 


Remarkable riemories. 

Magliabechi, of Florence, called “The 
Universal Index and Living Cyclopaedia ” 
(1633-1714). 

P. J. Beronicius, the Greek and Latin 
improvisator, who knew by heart Horace, 
Virgil, Cicero, Juvenal, both the Plinys, 
Homer, and Aristophanes. He died at 
Middleburgh, in 1676. 

Andrew Fuller, after hearing 500 lines 
twice, could repeat them without a mistake. 
He could also repeat verbatim a sermon or 
speech; could tell either backward or for¬ 
ward every shop sign from the Temple to 
the extreme end of Cheapside, and the arti¬ 
cles displayed in each of the shops. 

Woodfall could carry in his head a de¬ 
bate, and repeat it a fortnight afterward. 

Thompson could repeat the names, 
trades, and particulars of every shop from 
Ludgate Hill to Piccadilly. 

William Radcliff, the husband of the 
novelist, could repeat a debate the next 
morning. 

Blind Tom , the famous negro pianist, 
could repeat any speech he heard uttered. 
He could also play any piece of music from 
memory after once hearing it. In some 
respects his mind was very weak. 

At the Palmer House , Chicago, is a 
colored man who stands at the door of the 
dining-room and receives the hats, coats, 
and umbrellas of the hundreds of guests 
who go in to each meal. As they come 
out, he, without error, hands each guest 
the articles intrusted to him on entering. 
In many years’ service it is declared he has 
not made a dozen errors. In view of the 
fact that he gives no checks, but depends 
entirely on his memory of faces, and must 
’associate the articles with the individual 
leaving them, and that he must thus deal 
with hundreds of strangers every day, and 
has kept it up daily for many years, his feat 
of memory is one of the most remarkable on 
record. 








INTERESTING HISTORICAL FACTS 


“ Uncle Sam,” Origin of the Name. 

Speculation has arisen regarding the origin 
of the term “ Uncle Sam ” as applied to the 
United States Government. 

In the war of 1812, between this country 
and Great Britain, Elbert Anderson, of New 
York, purchased in Troy, N. Y., a large 
amount of pork for the American army. 

It was inspected by Samuel Wilson, who 
was popularly known as “Uncle Sam.” 
The barrels of pork were marked “ E. A., 
U. S.,” the lettering being done by a face¬ 
tious employee of Mr. Wilson. 

When asked by fellow-workmen the mean¬ 
ing of the mark (for the letters U. S., for 
United States, were then almost entirely new 
to them), he said “ he did not know, unless 
it meant Elbert Anderson and Uncle Sam.” 
alluding to Sam Wilson. 

The joke took among the workmen, and 
passed currently, and “ Uncle Sam ” himself 
being present, was occasionally rallied on 
the increasing extent of his possessions. 
Soon the incident appeared in print, and the 
joke gained favor rapidly, till it penetrated 
and was recognized in every part of the 
country, and will, no doubt, continue so 
while the United States remains a nation. 

“ John Bull,” Origin Of. 

The term John Bull, is a satirical per¬ 
sonification of the English people, derived 
from Arbuthnot’s “ History of John Bull,” 
in which satirical story the hero was rep¬ 
resented as a bluff, kindhearted but bull- 
headed English farmer, associated with two 
other characters, Eewis Baboon, represent¬ 
ing the Frenchman, and Nicholas Frog, 
representing the German. John Bull was 
accepted by the world as a typical English¬ 
man, and hence, to Dr. Arbuthnot belongs 
the honor of inventing the national nick¬ 


name, first applied to England, but later 
extending to the people of the whole British 
Empire. 

Important Battles in History. 

The Battle of Actium, b.c. 31, in whicn 
the combined fleets of Antony and Cleopatra 
were defeated by Octavius, and imperialism 
established in the person of Octavius. 

The Battle of Arbela, b.c., 331 in which 
the Persians, under Darius, were defeated by 
the Macedonians and Greeks under Alex¬ 
ander the Great. 

The Battle of Marathon, b.c. 490, in which 
the Athenians, under Miltiades, defeated the 
Persians, under Datis. 

The Battle of Syracuse, b.c. 413, in which 
the Athenians were defeated by the Syracu¬ 
sans and their allies. 

The Battle of Metaurus, b.c. 207, in which 
the Carthaginians, under Hasdrubal, were 
defeated by the Romans, under the Consuls, 
Caius Claudius Nero and Marcus Uivius. 

The Battle of Philippi, b.c. 42, in which 
Brutus and Cassius were defeated by Octa¬ 
vius and Antony. The fate of the Republic 
was decided. 

The Battle o f Blenheim, A.d. 1704, in 
which the French and Bavarians, under 
Marshal Tallard, were defeated by the Eng¬ 
lish and their allies, under Marlborough. 

The Battle of Chalons, a.d. 451, in which 
the Huns under Attila, called the “ Scourge 
of God,” were defeated by the confederate 
armies of Romans and Visigoths. 

Battle of Hastings, a.d, 1066, in which 
Harold, commanding the English army, was 
defeated by William the Conqueror of Nor¬ 
mandy. 

The Battle of Uutzen, a.d. 1632, which 
opened the way to religious liberty in Ger¬ 
many. Gustavus Adolphus was killed. 

427 



428 


FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


The Battle of Pul to wa, A. d. 1709, in which 
Charles XII. of Sweden, was defeated by the 
Russians, under Peter the Great. 

The Battle of Tours, a.d. 732, in which 
the Saracens were defeated by Charles Mar¬ 
tel. Christendom was rescued from Islam. 

On the 21st of October, 1805, the great 
naval battle of Trafalgar was fought. The 
English defeated the French and destroyed 
the hopes of Napoleon as to a successful in¬ 
vasion of England. 

The Battle of Valmy, a.d. 1792, in which 
an invading army of Prussians, Austrians 
and Hessians, under the command of the 
Duke of Brunswick, were defeated by the 
French, under Dumouriez. 

The three days’ battle of Leipzig 1813 
where Napoleon I. was defeated by the allied 
armies of Prussia, Russia and Sweden. 

The Battle of Waterloo, 1815, in which the 
French, under Napoleon, were defeated by 
the allied armies of England, under the Duke 
of Wellington, and of Prussia, under Prince 
Blucher. 

The Battle of Gettysburg, in 1863, has 
been styled the “ Waterloo of the Confeder¬ 
acy.” It was the greatest battle of the 
Civil War, the Union side losing 23,001 and 
the Confederates 20,448, in killed, wounded 
and missing. 

The battles around Metz August 14, 16, 
18, 1870. Bazaine, with 200,000 men, was 
thrown into the fortress by the Germans. 

The Battle of Sedan, September 2, 1870. 
Napoleon III., with 80,000men, surrendered 
to the allied Germans. 

The naval battle in Manila Bay, May 1, 
1898. The American squadron, under Dewey, 
annihilated the Spanish fleet under Montijo. 

The Battle of Oindurman, September 3, 
1898. English-Egyptian army, under Kitch¬ 
ener, routed large army of dervishes under 
Khalifa Abdullah. 

The battle of Santiago, in July 1898, in 
^vhich the Spanish Army and Navy were 
/defeated by the Americans, resulting in the 
treaty of peace, whereby Spain lost all her 
possessions in the East and West Indies. 

Famous Sieges—Time they Continued. 

The siege of Khartoum lasted 341 days ; 
that of Sebastopol 329 days ; Mafeking, 
South Africa, 1899, 216 days; Paris 167 


days ; Kimberly 123 days ; Plevna 94 days 
Lucknow 62 days, and Cawnpore 21 days. 

The Greatest Number of Men Ever Killed 
in a Single Battle. 

Sulla destroyed 300,000 men in each of 
three battles, one being at Cheronea. The 
Persians are said to have lost 230,000 at 
Plataea. Second Chronicles xiii. 17, records 
500,000 slain on one side, which may not 
have been in one battle. First Kings xx. 
29, gives 100,000 on one side destroyed in 
one day. Many historians pay little atten¬ 
tion to statistics of losses, but look for the 
influence of the conflict, and such as give 
figures often caution us regard ing the unre¬ 
liability of the number which they mention 
as being killed in remote times. 

Historical ITassacres. 

Great massacres occurred at the places 
and on the dates named below. 

Of all the Carthaginians in Sicily, 397 be¬ 
fore Christ. Two thousand Tyrians cruci¬ 
fied, and 8,000 put to the sword, for not 
surrendering Tyre to Alexander, 331 b.c. 
The Jews of Antioch fall upon the other 
inhabitants, and massacre 100,000, for refus¬ 
ing to surrender their arms to Demetrius 
Nicanor, tyrant of Syria, 154. A dreadful 
slaughter of the Teutones and Ambrones, 
near Aix, by Marius, the Roman general, 
200,000 being left dead on the spot, 102. 
The Romans throughout Asia, women and 
children not excepted, cruelly massacred in 
one day, by order of Mithridates, King of 
Pontus, 89. A great number of Roman 
senators massacred by Cinna, Marius, and 
Sertorius, and several of the Patricians des¬ 
patched themselves to avoid their horrid 
butcheries, 86. Again, under Sulla, and 
Catiline, his minister of vengeance, 79 and 
82. At Praeneste Octavianus Caesar ordered 
300 Roman senators, and other persons of 
distinction, to be sacrificed to the manes of 
Julius Caesar, 41. At the destruction of 
Jerusalem 1,000,000 Jews were put to the 
sword, a.d. 70. Cassius, a Roman general, 
under the Emperor M. Aurelius, put to death 
37,000 of the inhabitants of Seleucia, 197. 
At Alexandria, of many thousand citizens, 
by order of Antoninus, 213. The Emperor 


A RHINOCEROS FIGHT IN INDIA 






































AMERICAN FALLS, NIAGARA. 

(From Goat Island.) 

The Falls of Niagara are divided into two sections by Goat Island. We are looking, in the above view, at the American Falls, which are one-quarter of a mile 
wide, and have a perpendicular height of 164 feet. The Canadian Falls are nearly one-half mile wide and 158 feet in height, 

and are known as The Horse Shoe Falls 





FACTS FOR THE CURIOUS 


429 


Probus put to death 700,000 of the inhabit¬ 
ants upon his reduction of Gaul, 277. Of 
eighty Christian fathers, by order of the 
Emperor Gratian, at Nicomedia ; they Were 
put into a ship which was set on fire and 
driven out to sea, 370. Of Thessalonica, 
when upward of 7,000 persons, invited into 
the circus, were put to the sword by order 
of Theodosius, 390. Belisarius put to death 
above 30,000 citizens of Constantinople for 
a revolt, on account of two rapacious minis¬ 
ters set over them by Justinian, 532. Of the 
Eatins, by Andronicus, 1184 (at Constanti¬ 
nople) . The Sicilians massacred the French 
throughout the whole island, without dis¬ 
tinction of sex or age, on Easter Day, the 
first bell for vespers being the signal; this 
horrid affair is known in history by the name 
of the Sicilian Vespers, 1282. At Paris, 
1418. Of the Swedish nobility, at a feast, 
by order of Christian II., 1520. Of 70,000 
Huguenots, or French protestants, through¬ 
out the kingdom of France, attended with 
circumstances of the most horrid treachery 
and cruelty ; it began at Paris, in the night 
of the festival of St. Bartholomew, August 
25, 1572, by secret orders from Charles IX., 
King of France, at the instigation of the 
queen dowager, Catharine de Medicis, his 
mother ; it is styled in history the massacre 
of St. Bartholomew. Of the Christians, in 
Croatia, by the Turks, w T hen 65,000 were slain, 
1592. Of a great number of protestants at 
Thorn, who were put to death under a pre¬ 
tended legal sentence of the Chancellor of 
Poland, for being concerned in a tumult 
occasioned by a popish procession, 1724. 
At Batavia, where 12,000 Chinese were killed 
by the natives, October, 1740. In England, 
300 English nobles, by Hengist, a.d. 475. 
Of the monks of Bangor, i,2co; by Ethel- 
frid, King of Northumberland, 580. Of the 
Danes, in the southern counties of England, 
in the night of November 13, 1002, and the 
23dEthelred II. ; at London it was the most 
bloody, the churches being no sanctuary ; 
among the rest, Gunilda, sister of Swen, 
King of Denmark, left in hostage for the 
performance of a treaty but newly concluded. 
Of the Jews, some few pressing into West¬ 
minster Hall, at Richard I.’s coronation, 
were put to death by the people, and a false 
alarm being given that the king had ordered 


a general massacre of them, the people in 
many parts of England, from an aversion to 
them, slew all they met; in York 500, who 
had taken shelter in the castle, killed them¬ 
selves rather than fall into the hands of the 
people, 1189. Of the English, by the Dutch 
at Amboyna, 1624. Of the protestants in 
Ireland, when 40,000 were killed, 1641. 
Of the Macdonalds at Glencoe, in Scotland, 
for not surrendering in time according to 
King William’s proclamation, though with¬ 
out the king’s knowledge, 1692. Several 
dreadful massacres in France during the 
Revolution, from 1789 to 1794. 

The Monroe Doctrine and the Venezuela 
Boundary Controversy. 

No document has issued from the White 
House at Washington, since Lincoln’s fa¬ 
mous Proclamation of Emancipation of 
September, 1862, that has created such 
world-wide interest as the message sent to 
Congress by President Cleveland on the 17th 
of December, 1895, calling attention to the 
controversy between Great Britain and the 
Republic of Venezuela concerning the boun¬ 
dary lines dividing Venezuelan and British 
territory. The British claims concerning the 
extent of the colony of British Guiana were 
resented by the Republic of Venezuela. 
As a matter of fact, the boundary lines of 
this republic have never been definitely 
fixed. The total area claimed by Venezuela 
is 632,807 square miles, but of this only 
439,000 square miles are actually under 
Venezuelan administration. 

Taking his stand firmly on the Monroe 
Doctrine as a recognized element of interna¬ 
tional law, the President asked the Brit¬ 
ish Government to submit the whole matter 
to arbitration. This being refused, the Uni - 
ted States Congress unanimously passed 
a bill on the 20th of December, 1895, author¬ 
izing the President to appoint a commission 
to “ Investigate and report on the true divis¬ 
ional line between the Republic of Venezuela 
and British Guiana.” 

The bill based on the President’s Message 
passed the House and the Senate in about 
forty-eight hours. Never was a law passed 
so rapidly, nor supported with such enthusi¬ 
astic patriotism. $100,000 was appropriated 
for the expenses of said commission. 


SOME WONDERFUL THINGS IN 

NATURE 


Mammoth Cave. 

This is the largest known cave in the 
world. It is in Edmonson County, Ken¬ 
tucky, on the left bank of Green River. It 
consists of a series of caverns, and has been 
explored to a distance of ten miles. In this 
cavern is Echo River, which is crossed by a 
boat. Plenty of fish are found in the river, 
but the creatures are without eyes, there 
being not the least gleam of light within the 
cave, and hence no need of eyes. A voyage 
of a few hundred yards on Echo River, 
which winds and branches through the 
gloomy expanse, takes the visitor into a 
fairyland of labyrinths, flashing in the light 
of the torches, and with stalactites and 
stalagmites of every conceivable shape. 
Throughout its whole length the cave seems 
a mystery of buried palaces and magic 
haunts, not equaled in any other portion of 
the globe. Among other wonderful features 
are the Deserted Chambers, containing many 
deep and dangerous pits, the more frightful 
for the chaos of darkness that enwraps them; 
also the Side-saddle Pit, and the Covered 
Pit, the latter 15 feet in diameter, and nearly 
covered by a thin plate of rock. By putting 
the ear to the edge, the sound of falling water 
is heard in the fathomless depths below. 
Mammoth Dome is one of the special won¬ 
ders of the place. The roof is 300 feet high. 
Solitary Cave is an awfully grand and silent 
chamber. Bottomless Pit and the River 
Lethe are also important features. All 
through the cave are found groups of curi¬ 
ous and interesting figures, sculptured by 
the action of the water among the rocks in 
past infinite ages. The temperature of the 
cave is always 59 degrees F., and the place 
has been strongly recommended for some 
diseases. A few years ago a party of con¬ 
sumptives took up their abode within the 
cave. In a short time a portion of them 
died, and the rest lived only a few days after 

43 ° 


coming out. From dwelling in darkness so 
long, it is said that the pupils of their eyes 
had expanded until the iris had become in¬ 
visible. 

Luray Caverns. 

These marvelous subterranean caverns in 
Virginia bear numerous evidences of having 
been frequented by a prehistoric race ; but 
whether they were Norsemen or Red Men, 
we have not sufficient means for determin¬ 
ing, although many bones, and recently one 
whole skeleton of a male person, which may 
eventually throw some light upon the sub¬ 
ject, have been discovered. The interior of 
many of the chambers are lined with smoke, 
and large patches of the stalagmites have 
been removed from the floor to make it 
smooth and more easily used. But every¬ 
thing indicates that a long, long period of 
time—perhaps many thousands of years— 
have elapsed since voices resounded through 
those silent halls. The cave abounds in 
singular and interesting objects, deposited 
from the dripping waters. One stalagmite 
called the Empress Column, is a pure white 
mass of alabaster, 70 feet high, reaching to 
the roof. Another pendant formation, nearly 
equal to the Empress Column in length, 
vibrates fora moment on being struck, and 
one of the rooms, termed the Cathedral, has 
a series of twenty slender columns, which 
sound part of a scale on being struck suc¬ 
cessively. This is called the organ. 

Fingal’s Cave. 

Who does not remember to have seen 
crude pictures of it in the old school geo¬ 
graphies ? and still the interest with which 
it has always been regarded, continues 
unbroken. This famous natural grotto is 
on the Island of Staffa, on the southwest 
coast of Scotland. It is a cave of the sea. 
The formation consists of lofty basaltic 
columns, which look as if they might have 



SOME WONDERFUL THINGS IN NATURE 


431 


been chiseled by the hand of man, in count¬ 
less ages of patient toil, and fashioned and 
placed as here we see them. The cave 
extends inward from the shore line about 225 
feet, and in low water is lighted from without 
throughout its whole length. At the mouth 
it has a breadth of 42 feet, which diminishes 
to 22 feet at the extreme end. The entrance 
describes an almost perfect Gothic arch, and 
the columns which form the sides are of enor¬ 
mous size. Between the numberless pillars 
are stalactites of wonderful beauty. 

A Magnetic Cave. 

A California correspondent thus speaks 
of the cave which has recently been discov¬ 
ered in that State, the walls of which contain 
loadstones : 

As we entered the chamber, which is lined 
with a brownish black ore, all the party 
were more or less affected in a peculiar way, 
which some described as a chill along the 
spinal column, but which seemed to me more 
like the “ aura ” one feels when he brings 
his face into close proximity to an electric 
machine in vigorous action. There was— 
at least so it seemed to me—a slight odor of 
ozone in the air, which, considering the cur¬ 
rent theory of the close connection of mag¬ 
netism with electricity, might have been 
expected. In walking along the slippery 
floor of the cavern I struck with my foot a 
small oblong rock in such a way as com¬ 
pletely to overturn it, bringingits south pole 
where its north had been in contact with the 
north pole of another. It was immediately 
repelled—rebounded—to a distance of several 
feet, with considerable force, but it must be 
remembered that the floor was slippery with 
ooze, which had all the effect of oil. One 
of the party had taken a gun into the cave, 
which, of course, he carried with its muzzle 
toward the floor. Its ramrod was with¬ 
drawn by the magnetic force, and, to the 
surprise of us all, stood upright on the 
ground. When struck on one side it would 
fall over to the other, but instantly snap 
back; but it was easily taken up and replaced 
in position. The watches of all the party 
were found, on emerging from the cave, to 
have stopped while in it. A knife tossed to 
the roof remained fixed there. An experi¬ 
ment which I afterward wished I had tried 


would have been to feel the pulses of the 
party to see what effect, if any, the peculiarity 
of the situation had on the human body. 

The Largest Cavern in the World. 

Some years ago at the Hartford meeting 
of the American Association for the Advance¬ 
ment of Science, Mr. Porter C. Bliss, Secre¬ 
tary of the Legation in Mexico, gave a 
description of the Cave of Cacahuamilpa, 
which, according to his statement, is the 
largest cavern in the world. It includes a 
series of broad and lofty halls, with lateral 
passages, extending upon the same level an 
immense distance into the heart of a lofty 
range of mountains. The halls abound in 
colossal stalactites and stalagmites, of every 
conceivable and grotesque and fanciful form. 
At a depth of two or three hundred feet 
beneath the cave, the mountain is penetrated 
by two rivers of considerable size, which, at 
their entrance, are about half a mile apart, 
and, after flowing a distance, by direct mea¬ 
surement, of five miles, emerge from the 
mountain in close proximity, and thence 
united form one of the chief affluents of the 
Mexicola. The channels in the solid rock 
through which these rivers emerge are said 
by Mr. Bliss to be large enough to admit the 
Hartford State House. Fragments of tim¬ 
ber and debris are often floated through the 
mountain, but these subterranean river beds 
have never been explored. Myriads of bats 
and nocturnal birds seek shelter or make their 
abode in the mouth of the cave. 

In the Maelstrom of Niagara. 

The following is a description of Captain 
Webb’s fatal attempt to swim through the 
rapids and whirlpool, at Niagara, in July, 
1883: Webb promptly removed his hat, 
handkerchief, coat, and all his clothing save 
a pair of short red cotton trunks around his 
loins, and, without a word of farewell, 
plunged boldly in the water at a point oppo¬ 
site the Maid of the Mist landing. A moment 
later, he rose gracefully to the surface, and, 
swimming with infinite ease and power, 
struck boldly out. He cleared the water 
with strong and steady strokes, swimming 
on his breast, with his head clear from the 
surface. He kept in the center of the stream, 
and the strong eddies which occasionally 


432 


SOME WONDERFUL THINGS IN NATURE 


swirled past him seemed in no way to im¬ 
pede or swerve him from his course. As he 
approached the old suspension bridge, the 
flow of the current increased with remark¬ 
able rapidity. There were about two hun¬ 
dred spectators on the bridge who saw the 
intrepid swimmer glide toward them, pass 
swiftly beneath, and ere they could reach 
the east side of the structure, he was fifty 
yards down the current. He was carried 
along as fast as the eye could follow him. 
With speechless wonder and fear he was 
seen to reach the first furious billows of the 
rapids. Onward he was swept like a feather in 
the sea. High on the crest of a huge boulder 
of water, his head and shoulders gleamed for 
an instant, and then were lost in a dark abyss 
of turmoiling water. Again he appeared, 
his arms steadily moving, as if balancing 
himself for a plunge into another mighty 
wave. The tumbling, rushing, swirling 
element seemed to give forth an angry, sul¬ 
len roar, as if sounding the death-knell of 
the ill-fated swimmer. Once more away 
down the rapids he was seen, still appar¬ 
ently braving fate, and stemming the seeth¬ 
ing waters with marvelous skill and endur¬ 
ance. Instead of being hurled hither and 
thither, as might have been expected, he 
was carried with furious rapidity onward, 
almost in a straight course. For nearly a 
mile he was hurried forward by the tumultu¬ 
ous rushing waters, and still he seemed to 
be riding the awful billows in safety. In 
four minutes after he had passed under the 
old suspension bridge he had been hurried 
through the terrible rapids, and arrived at 
the mouth of the great whirlpool. Reach¬ 
ing what seemed to be less troubled and 
dangerous waters, he raised his head well 
above the surface, gazed for an instant 
toward the American shore, and then turned 
his face to the high bluff on the Canadian 
side. A second later he dived or sank, and 
was seen no more. 


The “ /laid of the Hist ” through the 

Rapids. 

The fatal attempt in 1883, of the daring 
swimmer, Captain Webb to swim the rapids 
and whirlpool, below Niagara Falls, calls to 
mind the memorable passage of the steamer 
Maid of the Mist in 1861. over this same 
dangerous voyage, it being the only occasion 
when a human being effected the passage in 
safety. The steamer had been sold to parties 
at Lewiston, on condition that she be de¬ 
livered at that place. Mr. George W. Hol¬ 
ley gives the rest of the story : 

“ About 3 o’clock in the afternoon of 
June 15, 1861, the engineer took his place 
in the hold, and, knowing that their flitting 
would be short at the longest, set his steam- 
valve at the proper gauge, and waited—not 
without anxiety—the tinkling signal that 
should start them on their flying voyage. 
McIntyre joined Robinson at the wheel, on 
the upper deck. Robinson took his place at 
the wheel and pulled the starting bell. 
With a shriek from her whistle, and a white 
puff from her escape-pipe, the boat ran up 
the eddy a short distance, then swung 
around to the right, cleared the smooth 
water, and shot like an arrow into the rapid 
under the bridge. She took the outside 
curve of the rapid, and when a third of the 
way down it, a jet of water struck against 
her rudder, a column dashed up under her 
starboard side, heeled her over, carried away 
her smoke-stack, started her overhang on 
that side, threw Robinson on his back, and 
thrust McIntyre against her starboard wheel 
house with such force as to break it through. 
Every looker-on breathed freer as she 
emerged, shook her wounded sides, slid 
into the whirlpool, and for a moment rode 
again on an even keel. Robinson rose at 
once, seized the helm, set her to the right 
of the large pot in the pool, then turned her 
directly through the neck of it. Thence, 
after receiving another drenching from its 
waves, she dashed on without further acci¬ 
dent, to the quiet bosom of the river below 
Eewiston. 


SOME WONDERFUL WORKS OF MAN 


X 


The Ingenuity of Han, 

Man is the ingenious animal who makes 
things. He has reason, which, philoso¬ 
phers tell us, no other animal has : thought, 
reason, logic are the overseers of his powers. 
He looks about him and sees the products 
of nature and he thinks how he may turn 
them to his own use, comfort, pleasure, 
service. But all this would avail him little 
more than it does other animals, did he not 
possess an instrument which other animals 
have not —the hand. How partial Provi¬ 
dence was in giving man a hand ! It is 
the one physical mark of his divine origin 
and kinship. God is the maker of all 
natural things. “ The heavens declare the 
glory of God and the firmament showeth 
His handiwork.” Man is the maker of 
nearly all artificial things. There is 
scarcely any natural force or thing on the 
earth that man has not already put his 
hand upon and transformed and fashioned 
it into a thousand things and shapes of use 
and beauty for his kind. The ancients 
built the Tower of Babel to their utter 
confusion; but the ingenuity of modern 
man is building high upon the battlements 
of a nobler tower that shall lift him even¬ 
tually into the very courts of God. 

Sheppard. 

The Seven Wonders of the World. 

Of course, in a book like this, it would 
not be proper to omit mention of what in 
all recent ages have been mentioned as the 
Seven Wonders of the World. These were : 

i. Pyramids of Egypt, of which it may 
be said of Cheops, the largest of them all, 
that it is 764 feet square at the base, and, 
including 20 feet at the apex that have 
been removed, is 500 feet high. (The 
tower of the City Hall at Philadelphia 
believed to be the highest tower in the 
world, is 547 feet.) The pyramid contains 

28 H L, 


90,000,000 cubic feet of masonry, and 
covers an area of over 13 acres, being 
larger than Madison Square, New York, 
and twice the height of Trinity Church spire. 
There is enough material in this pyramid, 
says the author of “Buried Cities,” to 
build a city as large as Washington, in¬ 
cluding all its public buildings. Herodo¬ 
tus tells us 400,000 men were employed 
twenty years in building it. It was the 
tomb of kings. 

2. The beautiful and immense Mauso¬ 
leum which Artemisia erected in Halicar¬ 
nassus to the memory of her husband, 
Mausolus, king of Caria. Concerning the 
tomb itself we know not much, but of 
Artemisia and of her excessive love for 
her husband, many stories are told, one 
of which is that her grief for his death 
was so great that she mixed his ashes 
with water and drank them off. 

3. The Temple of Diana, at Ephesus, 
the building of which occupied 220 years. 
The whole length of the temple was 425 
feet, and the breadth 220 feet, with 127 
columns of the Ionic order, in Parian 
marble, each a single shaft 60 feet high, 
and the gift of a king. 

4. The Walls and Hanging Gardens of 
Babylon. The walls were 337 feet 8 inches 
high and 84 feet 6 inches broad. Inside 
the outer walls was a second of equal 
height. The famous hanging gardens were 
400 feet square. They were carried up on 
arches above arches until the height 
equaled that of the city walls. On the top 
the soil was made so deep that large trees 
could take root in it. 

5. The Colossus at Rhodes, a celebrated 
brazen image. It was twelve years in 
building, and was so large that it is popu¬ 
larly considered to have stood beside the 
mouth of the harbor, and that ships sailed 
between its feet. This, however, is doubt¬ 
ful. There were few persons who could 

433 



434 


SOME WONDERFUL WORKS OF MAN 


reach round the thumb with both arms, 
and its fingers were larger than most 
statues. The cost was about $317,000. 

6. The Statue of Jupiter Olympus. This 
was by the famous sculptor Phidias. The 
god was represented as seated on his throne 
of gold, ebony, and ivory, and the figure was 
itself of ivory and gold ; and, though seated, 
yet of such vast proportions it almost reached 
the ceiling of the temple, which was 68 feet 
high. 

7. The Pharos, a lighthouse 550 feet high, 
at Alexandria, Egypt. Its light could be 
seen 100 miles out at sea. This tower was 
designed as a memorial of the King Ptolemy, 
who ordered his name to be inscribed on the 
pediment. The story goes that the archi¬ 
tect, however, first cut his own name in the 
marble, placing over it, in stucco, the name 
of the king. In a few years the name of the 
king was worn away, leaving that of Sostra- 
tus, the architect, to blaze forever on the 
front of the unrivaled monument. And yet, 
not forever, as no vestige of the monument 
has for ages been visible. 

Pearls and Pearl Divers. 

The most important pearl fisheries are in 
the Persian Gulf, off the Arabian coast, in 
the Bay of Bengal, near Ceylon, and in other 
parts of the Indian Ocean. Previous to 1795 
most of the Indian fisheries were in the hands 
of the Dutch, but they became British after 
the treaty of Amiens in 1802. The Ceylon 
fisheries are sometimes undertaken by the 
Government, and sometimes they are let to 
a contractor. Before the commencement of 
the season a government inspection of the 
coast takes place, in order that the banks 
may not be impoverished by too frequent 
fishing. The fishing for the pintadines in 
the Gulf of Menaar, a large bay on the 
northeast coast of the island of Ceylon, com¬ 
mences in February or in March, and con¬ 
tinues thirty days. Upon this ground 250 
boats are occupied, which come from differ¬ 
ent parts of the coast. At 10 o’clock at 
night, at the sound of a signal gun, they put 
to sea, and, as soon as the dawn furnishes 
them with sufficient light, they commence 
their day’s labor. Each boat is manned by 
ten rowers, and ten divers occupy the deck, 
which covers half the vessel. Five of the 


divers rest while the others are gathering 
the pintadines, and each boat’s crew is at¬ 
tended by a negro, who makes himself gen¬ 
erally useful. The divers descend usually 
about forty feet, and the best of them can 
keep under the water one and a half minutes. 
To accelerate their descent they attach to 
their foot a stone of the shape of a sugar- 
loaf, which weighs about fifty pounds. Ar¬ 
riving at the fishing-ground, a diving-stage, 
which projects over the side of the boat, is 
made by lashing the oars to each other. 
To the edge of this stage the diving-stones 
are hung. When a diver descends, he places 
his right foot in a stirrup, which is attached 
to the conical point of the stone, or he holds 
the cord which suspends the stone to the 
boat between his toes ; with the other foot 
he carries a net in which the shells are to be 
placed, then, seizing in his right hand a 
signal-cord, conveniently arranged for this 
purpose, and, tightly closing his rostrils 
with his left hand, he plunges, holding him¬ 
self vertically over the sinking stone. Test 
his descent should be in the slightest degree 
impeded, the diver is naked, with the excep¬ 
tion of a piece of calico round his loins. 
Upon reaching the bottom he withdraws his 
foot from his stirrup, and the stone is at once 
drawn to the top, ready for the use of another 
diver. He then throws himself upon his 
face on the ground, and, stretching out his 
arms, he gathers all the mullusks within his 
reach and places them within his net. When 
he wishes to ascend he pulls the signal cord 
sharply and is rapidly drawn up. There is 
always one stone for two divers ; one rests 
and refreshes himself while the other is in 
the water. The time the divers ordinarily 
keep beneath the surface is thirty seconds, 
and, in favorable circumstances, they can 
make fifteen or twenty descents in succession. 
But sometimes they are unable to go down 
more than three or four times. Even then, 
when they come up, water colored with 
blood comes from their mouths, noses and 
ears. The work is very distressing and 
makes sad havoc of the constitution ; the 
pearl-divers never reach old age. The fish¬ 
ing is continued until noon, when a second 
gun gives the signal to cease. The owners 
of the boats wait on the shore to superin¬ 
tend the discharge of the cargoes, which 


SOME WONDERFUL WORKS OF MAN 


435 


must be all secured before night, to prevent 
robbery. Formerly the Ceylon fisheries were 
very productive. In 1797 they yielded 
,£144,000, and in the following year as much 
as ,£192,000. In 1802 the banks were let 
for ,£120,000, but ever since they have been 
less and less valuable, and now are not worth 
more than £20,000 per annum or less than 
£100,000. 

SOME OF THE GIANT PEARLS. 

Of course there are giants among the 
pearls, whose size and value render them 
historical. Julius Caesar, who was a great 
admirer of pearls, gave one to Servilia, 
which was valued at a million sesterses, 
about $43,000 of our money ! Cleopatra 
had two famous pearls, one of which the 
capricious queen dissolved in vinegar and 
drank the precious draught—a cup of acid 
wine worth $275,000. The other pearl was 
split in two, and each half became an ear¬ 
ring in the statue of the Capitoline Venus. 
If it be true, the highest price ever given for 
a pearl was $850,000, with w T hich sum the 
Shah of Persia is said to have bought one 
from Taverner, which that traveler had pur¬ 
chased at Califa. In 1759 one of the earliest 
transactions of this nature is recorded. A 
pearl from Panama, worth $18,000, was 
brought to Philip II., king of Spain. The 
Prince of Muscat possessed one fished up 
from his waters, which was not large, but 
so transparent that he refused for it the same 
sum. In the Zozema Museum at Moscow, 
there is a pearl called the “ Pilgrim,” which 
is quite semi-lucent; it is globular in form, 
and weighs nearly an ounce. The Shah of 
Persia possesses a string of pearls, each of 
which is as large as a hazel-nut; the price 
of the string is inestimable ! At the Paris 
Exhibition in 1855, Her Majesty, the Queen 
of England, exhibited some magnificent 
pearls ; and the Emperor also contributed 
408 of the finest water ; their value was 
more than $85,000. Pearls have always 
been held in the highest estimation by the 
eastern nations; indeed, they invested large 
pearls with magnificent powers, and believed 
that their possession exercised a mystic in¬ 
fluence, guiding their fortunes, and preserv¬ 
ing them from evil.— World of the Sea. 


The International Bone of Contention. 

One of the greatest works of the present 
century is the construction of the Suez Canal 
(completed in 1869). It connects the Medi¬ 
terranean with the Red Sea, thus shortening 
the voyage to India by about 6,000 miles in 
distance, and a month in time. It is 86J2 
miles long, 250 feet wide, and deep enough 
to allow the largest vessels to pass through. 
Its cost was $130,000,000. 

The Nicaragua Canal will no doubt be 
completed within the first quarter of the 20th 
century, and will do as much for the com¬ 
merce of the western hemisphere as the 
Suez Canal has done for the eastern half of 
the earth. 

Hoosac Tunnel. 

The history of this gigantic enterprise is, 
since 1825, when it first began to be talked 
about, almost the history of Massachusetts. 
It stretches its dark length of 4^ miles 
under the Hoosac Mountain in Massachu¬ 
setts, and is the jugular vein between New 
England and all the West. Many bold 
capitalists and experienced borers took a 
hard pull at it, sunk their fortunes and quit. 
Finally the State shouldered the job, and it 
went through. First estimated cost of 
tunnel and track, $4,350,000. Final cost 
to the State, $14,000,000. Total length, 
24,416 feet; width, 24 feet; height, 20 feet. 
The first work was done in 1855, and the 
tunnel was substantially finished in 1874. 

Chicago Tunnel. 

This tunnel was begun in 1864, and fin- 
ished in 1867. It is driven from the city 
out under Take Michigan, and through it 
the city receives its water supply. Its 
length is two miles, and its cost was $457,- 
844. The excavation was only five feet in 
diameter. A second tunnel seven feet in 
diameter, was completed in 1874, at a cost 
of $411,510. Both reach out to a well hole, 
into which the water filters. This enter¬ 
prise has attracted a good deal of attention 
both in this country and Europe. 


t 


MARVELOUS FACTS ABOUT SMALL 

LIVING CREATURES 


Norway Rats on a March. 

Norway rats, to avert a famine, have a sin¬ 
gular way of proceeding. When the time for 
the settlement of the question of partial ex¬ 
termination for the benefit of the race, or 
total extermination by starvation, can no 
longer be delayed, they assemble in count¬ 
less thousands in some of the mountain val¬ 
leys leading into the plains, and, the vast 
army of exiles being selected, they pour 
across the country in a straight line, a liv¬ 
ing stream, often exceeding a mile in length 
and many yards in breadth, devouring every 
green thing in their line of march, the coun¬ 
try over which they have passed looking as 
if it had been plowed or burned with fire. 
They march principally by night and in the 
morning, resting during the day, but never 
seek to settle in any particular locality, how- 
ex er abundant food maybe in it, for their 
final destination is the distant sea, and 
nothing animate or inanimate, if it can be 
surmounted, retards the straight onward tide 
of their advance. Foxes, lynxes, weasels, 
kites, owls, etc., hover on their line of march 
and destroy them by hundreds. The fish in 
the rivers and lakes lay a heavy toll upon 
them, and vast numbers are drowned and 
die by other accidents in ‘ ‘ flood and field ; ’ ’ 
but the survivors, impelled by some irresis¬ 
tible instinct, press onward with no thought 
of stopping, until they lose themselves in 
the sea, sinking in its depths as they become 
exhausted, in such numbers that for miles 
their bodies, thrown up by the tide, lie putre¬ 
fying on the shore .—Temple Bar . 

How the Chicken Grows in the Egg. 

The hen has scarcely set on her eggs 
twelve hours before some lineament of the 
head and body of the chicken appear. The 
heart may be seen to beat at the end of a 
second day; it ha* at that time somewhat 

43 6 


of the form of a horseshoe, but no blood 
yet appears. At the end of two days two 
vessels of blood are to be distinguished, the 
pulsation of which is visible; one of these 
is the left ventricle, and the other the root 
of the great artery. At the fiftieth hour one 
auricle of the heart appears, resembling a 
noose folded down upon itself. The beating 
of the heart is first observed in the auricle, 
and afterward in the ventricle. At the end 
of seventy hours the wings are distinguish¬ 
able ; and on the head two bubbles are seen 
for the brain, one for the bill, and two for 
the fore and hind parts of the head. Toward 
the end of the fourth day, the two auricles 
already visible draw nearer to the heart than 
before. The liver appears toward the fifth 
day. At the end of seven hours more, the 
lungs and the stomach become visible ; and 
four hours afterward, the intestines, and 
loins and the upper jaw. At the one hun¬ 
dred and forty-fourth hour, two ventricles 
are visible, and two drops of blood instead 
of the single one which was before. The 
seventh day the brain begins to have some 
consistency. At the one hundred and nine 
teenth hour the bill opens and the flesh 
appears in the breast. In four hours more 
the breast bone is seen. In six hours after 
this, the ribs appear, forming from the back, 
and the bill is very visible, as well as the 
gall-bladder. The bill becomes green at the 
end of two hundred and thirty-six hours; 
and if the chicken be taken out of its cover¬ 
ing, it evidently moves itself. At the two 
hundred and eighty-eighth the ribs are per¬ 
fect. At the three hundred and thirty-first, 
the spleen draws near the stomach, and the 
lungs to the chest. At the end of three 
hundred and fifty-five hours, the bill fre¬ 
quently opens and shuts ; at the end of the 
eighteenth day, the first cry of the chicken 
is heard. It afterward gets more strength 



FACTS ABOUT SMALL LIVING CREATURES 


437 


and grows continually, till at length it is 
enabled to set itself free from its confine¬ 
ment.— Sturm ’s Reflections . 

How the Spider Spins Her Web. 

Look carefully under her abdomen, and 
near the tip you will see six little nipples. 
Under these nipples, inside her body, there 
are special glands in which a kind of gum 
is secreted, and this dries when it comes into 
the air, and forms a silken thread, from which 
the spider hangs, and out of which she forms 
her web. And now comes the almost in¬ 
credible part of the story. These nipples, 
which are called “spinnerets,” have not 
merely one opening, like a cow’s teat, but 
each one, tiny as it is, is pierced with at least 
a hundred holes, and when the spider begins 
her web, more than six hundred separate 
strands go to make up a single thread. The 
thread thus spun is stronger than steel. A 
bar of iron one inch in diameter will sustain 
a weight of 28 tons ; a bar of steel 58 tons ; 
and according to the computation based upon 
the fact that a fiber only one four-thousandth 
part of an inch in diameter will sustain 54 
grains, a bar of spiders’ silk an inch in di¬ 
ameter would support a weight of 74 tons. 
In other words, spiders’ silk has nearly three 
times the supporting strength of iron. 

The Balloon Spider. 

Dr. G. Lincecum gives the following inter¬ 
esting report of the curious little balloon- 
spider and its work : 

“ I once observed,” says the writer, “ one 
of these spiders at work in the upper corner 
of an open outside door-shutter. She was 
spinning gossamer, of which she was form¬ 
ing a balloon, and clinging to her thorax 
was a little cluster of minute young spiders. 
She finished up the body of the balloon, 
threw out the long bow-lines, which were 
flapping and fluttering in the now gently- 
increasing breeze. Several minutes before 
she got all ready for the ascension, she 
seemed to be filling the bottom, and widen¬ 
ing her hammock-shaped balloon ; and now, 
the breeze being suitable, she moved to the 
cable in the stern, severed it, and her craft 
bounded upward, and, soaring northward, 
was soon beyond the scope of observation. ” 

—Atlantic Monthly. 


A Spider’s Appetite. 

In order to test what a spider could do in 
the way of eating, we arose about daybreak 
one morning to supply his fine web with a 
fly. At first, however, the spider did not 
come from his retreat, so we peeped among 
the leaves, and there discovered that an ear¬ 
wig had been caught, and was now being 
feasted on. The spider left the earwig, rolled 
up the fly, and at once returned to his “ first 
course.” This was at half-past 5 A.M., in 
September. At 7 a.m. the earwig had been 
demolished, and the spider, after resting a 
little while, and probably enjoying a nap, 
came down for the fly, which he had finished 
at 9 a.m. A little after 9 we supplied him 
with a daddy-long-legs, which was eaten by 
noon. At 1 o’clock a blowfly was greedily 
seized, and, with an appetite apparently no 
worse for his previous indulgence, he com¬ 
menced on the blowfly. During the day, and 
toward the evening, a great many small green 
flies, or what are properly termed midges, 
had been caught in the web ; of these we 
counted one hundred and twenty, all dead, 
and fast prisoners in the spider’s net. Soon 
after dark, provided with a lantern, we went 
to examine whether the spider was suffering 
at all from indigestion, or in any other way 
from his previous meals ; instead, however, 
of being thus affected, he was employed in 
rolling up together the various little green 
midges, which he then took to his retreat 
and ate. This process he repeated, carrying 
up the lots in little detachments, until the 
whole web was eaten, for the web and its 
contents were bundled up together. A 
slight rest of about an hour was followed 
by the most industrious web-making process, 
and, before daybreak, another web was ready 
to be used in the same way. Taking the 
relative size of the spider and the creatures 
he ate, and applying this to a man, it would 
be somewhat as follows : At daybreak, a 
lamb; at 9 a.m., a young camelopard; at 
1 o’clock, a sheep ; and during the night one 
hundred and twenty larks. This, we believe, 
would be a very fair allowance for one man 
during twenty-four hours ; and could we find 
one gifted with such an appetite, we can 
readily comprehend how he might spin five 
miles of web without killing himself, pro¬ 
vided he possessed the necessary machinery. 


438 


FACTS ABOUT SMALL LIVING CREATURES 


Wonderful Facts About the Ant. 

Everything pertaining to these little beings 
is full of interest. Their general habits of 
life approach more nearly to those of human 
beings than do those of any other creature. 
The little midgets have learned pretty much 
all that is worth learning from us bigger peo¬ 
ple—particularly all that is bad. In their 
little way they can do a good deal that man 
can do, and some things that he cannot do ; 
for Huber, Gould, McCook and others, who 
have made a special study of their habits, 
tell us how they build houses and cities, 
which they inhabit, surrounded by the roy¬ 
alty and splendor of ant-life, while others 
(the agricultural ants) are enthusiastically 
devoted to farm life. If they do not dress 
in equipage, nevertheless, like the Chinese, 
the Japanese, and other nations, they always 
observe the fashion of their race, and in all 
things are scrupulously clean and neat. 
Such a thing as a dirty ant it would be hard 
to find. Even the lazy ones (for there are 
plenty of lazy ones, notwithstanding their 
well-founded reputation for industry) gen¬ 
erally manage to make their slaves attend to 
their master’s toilet. They can dispute and 
hold communication with their fellows, 
though just how they do it has puzzled all 
the naturalists to find out, and the ants them¬ 
selves are wise enough not to tell. As 
nations, they go to war, sometimes like men, 
for trifling causes ; but generally, like the 
United States and Mexico, over the ques¬ 
tions of boundary lines ; but their armies 
are quite as well disciplined, and fight on 
the same general principles as those of any 
civilized nation. They keep domestic ani¬ 
mals, beetles, and other insects, living in 
their houses, very much as we keep cats and 
dogs in ours, and many of them have exten¬ 
sive herds of aphides, a nectar-giving species 
of insect, which the ants tenderly care for. 
Some invisible bond makes all labor for the 
good of the whole. One of the principal 
rules in ant cities is for every member to help 
every other, who needs help ; so we see that 
in some respects we are far behind the ants 
in civilization. 

Different species of ants never live to¬ 
gether, and yet, in seeming contradiction of 
this, you will sometimes find the red and 
black ants living in the same tunnel. The 


truth is, the black ants are the slaves of the 
red, and have been captured in war. They 
do all the servile work about the premises; 
in fact, the red ants are most tyrannical task¬ 
masters. They are sometimes too lazy to 
walk, and will make the blacks lug them 
about in great style. 

Perhaps the most interesting of all species 
is the agricultural ant of this country, which 
is a model farmer in its way, clearing a tract 
of land, sometimes twelve feet across, with 
avenues running up to it from different direc¬ 
tions. In the center is the castle, or dwell¬ 
ing, and all about it the open court, which 
is kept smooth as any pavement, and where 
not a speck of grass is ever allowed to grow ; 
but all about it the clever little insect actu¬ 
ally sows seeds, and annually raises a crop 
of ant-rice, which is its food. 

Considered in any light, the habits of these 
little creatures, their powers of reasoning, 
their language, political economy, and gen¬ 
eral knowledge of “men and things,” are 
wonderful in the extreme. 

The Wonders of a Flea, 

When a flea is made to appear as large as 
an elephant, we can see all the wonderful 
parts of its formation, and are astonished to 
find that it has a coat of armor much more 
complete than ever warrior wore, and com¬ 
posed of strong polished plates, fitted over 
each other, each plate covered like a tortoise 
shell, and where they meet, hundreds of 
strong quills project, like those on the back 
of a porcupine and hedgehog. There is the 
arched neck, the bright eye, the transparent 
cases, the piercers to puncture the skin, a 
sucker to draw away the blood, six long' 
jointed legs, four of which are folded on the 
breast, all ready at any moment to be thrown 
out with tremendous force for that jump 
which bothers one when he wants to catch 
him, and at the end of each leg hooked claws 
to enable him to cling to whatever he alights 
upon. A flea can jump a hundred times its 
own length, which is the same as if a man 
jumped six hundred feet; and he can draw 
a load two hundred times his own weight. 

A Bird that Turns Somersaults. 

There’s a pretty little bird that lives in 
China, called the fork-tailed titmouse. 


FACTS ABOUT SMALL LIVING CREATURES 


439 


He is about as big as a robin, and be has a 
red beak, orange colored throat, greenback, 
yellow legs, black tail, and red and yellow 
wings. N early all the colors are in his dress, 
you see, and he is a gay fellow. But this 
bird has a trick known to no other birds that 
ever I heard of. He turns somersaults ! 
Not only does he do this in his free life on 
the trees, but also after he is caught and put 
in a cage. He just throws his head far back 
and over he goes, touching the bars of the 
cage, and alighting upon his feet on the floor 
or on a perch. He will do it over and over a 
number of times without stopping, as though 
he thought it great fun.— St. Nicholas. 

The Tailor Bird. 

In far away India there is a bird which 
builds its nest by sewing leaves together. 
How it does it is a wonder, but not more 
wonderful than is all bird architecture. And 
yet we marvel at the intelligence which 
enables a plain little bird to do work so 
strongly resembling that of us more know¬ 
ing ones. Using its bill for a needle, and 
with strong silken threads of spider’s webs, 
it sews the edges of the leaves together, very 
much as a tailor might do, only more securely 
if anything, as knots, or rather little buttons, 
are made by twisting the ends of the thread 
upon itself, both on the inside and the out¬ 
side of the leaves. The leaves having been 
thus securely fastened together, the inside is 
then softly and warmly padded, thus making 
a very compact and beautifully felted cup. 
The skill of these birds is perfect, and we 
marvel at it, until we think of the architec¬ 
ture of the bees, and of many other creatures 
whose work, although it does not so much 
resemble that of man, is none the less in¬ 
genious and wonderful .—Scientific Miscel¬ 
lany. 

The Pigeons of Venice. 

The pigeons of Venice are the proteges of 
the city, as the lions of St. Mark are its pro¬ 
tectors . They are fed every day at 2 o ’ clock. 
A dinner-bell is rung for them ; and they 
are not allowed to be interfered with. Any 
person found ill-treating a pigeon is arrested. 
If it is his first offence he is fined ; if he be 
an old offender, he is sent to prison. In the 
good old days of the republic the guilt of 
shedding a pigeon’s Wood could only be 


expiated by the law of Moses taking full 
effect upon the culprit in the spirit of “ an 
eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth,” 
much as the same law was brought to bear 
on poachers, sheep-stealers, and others in 
Great Britian eighty years ago. 

It is believed by the credulous that the 
pigeons of Venice are in some way connected 
with the prosperity of the city ; that they 
fly round it three times every day in honor 
of the Trinity ; and that their being domi¬ 
ciled in the town is a sign that it will not be 
swallowed up by the waves. When it is 
high-water they perch on the top of the 
tower. When the Venetians were at war, or 
when there was any prospect of a change of 
dynasty, they would gather round the lion of 
St. Mark, over the entrance to the cathedral, 
and consult in a low voice about the desti¬ 
nies of the city. Doubt these facts if you 
like, but not in Venice. What spiders were 
to Robert Bruce, what crocodiles are to cer¬ 
tain wild tribes in Africa, the columbines, 
or little pigeons, are to the Venetians .—All 
the Year Round. 

Flights of Birds. 

Some birds fly sixty feet in a second ; but 
a race-horse rarely exceeds forty feet in the 
same time. The rice bird, which becomes 
known as the reed bird of Delaware Bay, 
and the bobolink of New York, is often 
found below Philadelphia, with green rice in 
its crop. The same thing is true of pigeons 
during the rice-growing season. Hawks 
and many other birds probably fly at the 
rate of one hundred and fifty miles an hour. 
Sir George Cayley computes the common 
crow to fly at nearly twenty-five miles an 
hour. Spallanzani found the rate of the 
swallow at about ninety-two miles an hour, 
while he conjectures the rapidity of the 
swift to be nearly three times greater. A 
falcon which belonged to Henry IV., of 
France, escaped from Fontainebleau, and in 
twenty-four hours afterward was found at 
Malta, a distance of not less than 1,500 
miles, a velocity nearly equal to fifty-seven 
miles an hour, supposing the falcon to have 
been unceasingly on the wing. But, as such 
birds never fly by night, and allowing the 
day to be the longest, his flight was, perhaps, 
equal to seventy-five miles per hour. 


CURIOUS FACTS ABOUT WOOD 

AND TREES- 


The Largest Trees in the World. 

The real giants of the forest are found only 
along the western flank of the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains in California. To the northward 
they are found in groups only. The trees 
in most of these groups have been counted. 
Those of the Calaveras group number twelve 
hundred; in the Tuolumne and Merced 
groups there are less than one hundred ; in 
the well-known Mariposa grove, about six 
hundred ; and in the North King’s River 
grove, less than half as many ; but the 
Fresno group, the largest congregation of 
the north, occupies an area of three or four 
square miles. In addition to these we have 
the Dinky grove ; but farther southward the 
trees stretch majestically across the broad 
rugged basin of the Keweah and Tule in 
noble forests, a distance of nearly seventy 
miles, the continuity of this magnificent 
belt being broken only by deep, sheer-walled 
canyons. These sequoia gigantea are the 
inonarchs of monarchs—the master exist¬ 
ence of these unrivaled forests. The average 
stature attained by the big tree under favor¬ 
able conditions is perhaps about 275 feet, 
with a diameter of 20 feet. Few full-grown 
specimens fall much short of this, while 
many are 25 feet in diameter, and nearly 300 
feet high. Fortunate trees, so situated as to 
aave escaped the destructive action of fire, 
which has ever been the formidable enemy 
af the sequoias, are occasionally found 
measuring 30 feet in diameter, and very rarely 
one that is much larger. Yet so exquisitely 
harmonious are even the very mightiest of 
these monarchs, in all their proportions and 
circumstances, that never is anything over¬ 
grown or huge-looking about them, and the 
first exclamation, on coming upon a group 
for the first time, is usually, “ See what 
beautiful trees ! ’ ’ Their real. godlike grand¬ 
eur in the meantime is invisible ; but to the 

440 


loving eye it will be manifested sooner or 
later, stealing slowly on the senses like the 
grandeur of Niagara, or of some lofty Yose- 
mite dome. The most notable tree in the 
well-known Mariposa grove is the Grisly 
Giant, some 30 feet in diameter, growing on 
the top of a stony ridge. A section of this 
tree, 25 feet in diameter was shown at the Cen¬ 
tennial, Chicago and other Fairs. The age, 
counted by three different persons, is from 
2,125 to 2 >3 I 7 years, the fineness of the 
annual wood rings making accurate count 
difficult. Some of the trees are undoubtedly 
much older. A specimen observed by me 
in the New King’s River Forest is probably 
over 4,000 years old. It measured nearly 40 
feet in diameter inside the bark. Many of 
these mighty monarchs are known to the 
world at large by familiar names, such as 
“General Grant,” “The Three Graces,” 
“ The Faithful Couple,” etc. Through the 
erect trunk of one dead giant a passage has 
been cleft, through which the great stage 
coach thunders on its way. The California 
Indians have a saying that other trees grow, 
but the Great Spirit created the sequoias out 
of hand. It is the savage way of calling 
them miracles. And they are ; for how a 
tree/rom twenty-five to thirty stories high, 
and with room, if hollowed, to shelter three 
hundred guests, and leave stabling quarters 
on the ground floor for a dozen horses, could 
have pumped from the earth and inspired 
from the air material enough to build itself 
along without waiting, is incomprehensible. 
— Co?idensed from fohn Muir and B. F. Tay¬ 
lor. 

The Oldest Timber in the World. 

Probably the oldest timber in the world 
which has been subjected to the use of man, 
is that which is found in the ancient temple 
of Egypt. It is found in connection with 
stone work, which is known to be at least 




CURIOUS THINGS ABOUT WOOD AND TREES 


41 1 


four thousand years old. This wood, and 
the only wood used in the construction of 
the temple, is in the form of ties, holding 
the end of one stone to another in its upper 
surface. When two blocks were laid in 
place, then it appears that an excavation 
about an inch deep was made into each 
block, into which an hour-glass shaped tie 
was driven. It is, therefore, very difficult 
to force any stone from its position. The 
ties appear to have been the tamarisk, or 
shittim wood, of which the ark was con¬ 
structed, a sacred tree in ancient Egypt, and 
now very rarely found in the Valley of the 
Nile. Those dove-tailed ties are just as 
sound now as on the day of their insertion. 
Although fuel is extremely scarce in that 
country, these bits of wood are not large 
enough to make it an object with Arabs to 
heave off layer after layer of stone for so 
small a prize. Had they been of bronze, 
half the old temples would have been de¬ 
stroyed long ago, so precious would they 
have been for various purposes. The coffins 
of Egyptian mummies are also other very 
old specimens of wood. 

A Tree that Lives 5,000 Years. 

The queerest of trees must be the boabab, 
or monkey bread. It grows to the height of 
forty feet, “ but. its girth is entirely out of 
proportion to its height, some trees being 
thirty feet in diameter. An old boabab in 
Africa is, then, more like a forest than a 
single tree. Their age is incalculable.” 
Humboldt considers them as “the oldest 
living organic monuments of our planet.” 
Some trees are believed to be 5,000 years 
old. You can cut a good sized room into 
the trunk of a boabab, with comfortable 
accommodations for thirty men, and the tree 
lives on and flourishes. It produces fruit 
about a foot long, which is edible. As an 
example of slow growth in England, a boa¬ 
bab at Kew, though more than eighty years 
old, has only attained a height of four and a 
half feet. A kindred species of the African 
boabab grows in Australia. They have been 
measured, being thirty-five feet high, with a 
girth of eighty-five feet. 

Plants that Eat Animals. 

The most knowing ones among scientists 
confess that they cannot draw the line 


between the vegetable and the animal king¬ 
dom. Sponges, corals, and many other 
wonders of the sea, seem to bestride that line, 
one foot on either side, as we might say. 
So, also, do the insect-eating plants It is 
proven beyond question that paralysis of a 
plant can be produced by external injury, 
showing the existence of a nervous 
system. 

There are some seven or eight well-defined 
varieties of plants that exist largely on cap¬ 
tured prey. Such are various kinds of pitcher 
plants, which stand up in queenly fashion—• 
genuine pitchers, with a little lid at the top. 
Now, here comes a wondering bee, browsing 
along with as much noise as a brass band. 
Will he be wise enough to avoid his danger ? 
We shall see. He alights on the very brim 
of the pitcher. It is covered with the richest 
honey. Farther and farther he descends. 
He might as well bid the world good-night, 
for down comes the lid with a bang (we 
might almost say). He is a “goner”. Smoth¬ 
ered and blinded, sooner or later he falls to 
the bottom, where he is drowned in a puddle 
of water—not water, but the gastric juice of 
the animal’s (!) stomach, which digests him 
precisely as a man’s stomach digests beef¬ 
steak. He will be watched for in vain at the 
home hive. Some pitcher plants are wonders 
of plant architecture. Their tops grow over, 
forming a regular hood, with the entrance 
beneath ; but the bees always find it to their 
sorrow. 

Then there is the Venus fly-trap. It is 
little, but the same shape as if you should 
put your two open palms side by side. On 
the surface is honey, and sharp needles stick¬ 
ing up. A fly is attracted by the honey and 
alights. Instantly the two palms close as 
one. The fly is between and the needles 
pierce him through and through. He is 
another goner. Then the plant stays closed 
until everything good in the fly is eaten up 
—many days perhaps. Our little fly-trap 
knows its business very well, and is not to 
be fooled Put a little piece of beefsteak on 
the open disks ; they close at once. Now 
try a piece of wood or earth. This is not 
food, and the Venus knows it. There is no 
motion. Strange, isn’t it ? 


442 


CURIOUS THINGS ABOUT WOOD AND TREES 


A Petrified Forest. 

From Mr. David Rideout, who was en¬ 
gaged in preparing a section of a petrified 
tree for the Centennial Exhibition, the Win- 
nemucca (Nevada) Star learns the following 
relating to the petrified forest in the desert 
of Northwestern Humboldt: 

“On the plain, about thirty miles from 
the Blackrock range of mountains, stands 
one of the greatest natural curiosities ever 
discovered in Nevada. It is a petrified 
forest, in which the stumps of many of the 
trees, now changed into solid rock, are still 
standing. There are no living trees or vege¬ 
tation of any kind, other than stunted sage 
brush, in the vicinity. Some of these ancient 
giants of the forest, which flourished, per¬ 
haps, thousands of years ago, when the cli¬ 
mate of Nevada was undoubtedly more favor¬ 
able for the growth of luxurious vegetation 
than at present, rival in size the big trees of 
California. Stumps, transformed into solid 
rock, stand in an upright position, with their 
roots embedded in the soil, as when growing, 
that measure from fifteen to twenty feet in 
circumference, and the ground in the vicinity 
is strewn with the trunks and limbs, which 
retain their natural shape and size. Mr. 
Rideout, determining to secure a section of 
one of these trees for the Centennial Exhi¬ 
bition, with two other men, spent twelve 
days in cutting it from the stump. This was 
accomplished by drilling all around the tree 
and separating it with wedges. The speci¬ 
men is three feet high and eighteen feet in 
circumference, and its estimated weight is 
three tons.” 

The Dwarf Trees of Japan. 

Gardeners in Japan display astonishing 
art. The plum, which is a great favorite, 
is so trained and cultivated that the blos¬ 
soms are as big as those of dahlias. They 
have giadually succeeded in dwarfing the fig, 
plum and cherry trees, and the vine to a 
stature so diminutive as scarcely to be cred¬ 
ited by a foreigner, and yet those dwarf 
trees are covered with blossoms and leaves. 
Maylon, whose work on Japan was published 
at Amsterdam in 1830, states that the Dutch 
agent of commerce in Naganei was offered 
a snuff-box, one inch in thickness and three 
long, in which grew a fig tree, a bamboo 


and a plum tree in bloom. But it is especial¬ 
ly members of the coniferous family that are 
thus dwarfed. Much patience is needed, and 
there are trees 200 years old, or more, which 
scarcely reach a foot in height. Such a tree 
can be bought for $8.00 or $ 10.00, and it is 
marvelous how a tree that needed care during 
a time of two centuries can be sold for such 
a trifle. Where does the compensation for 
care and work come in ? 

Why Called Rosewood. 

It has puzzled many people to decide why 
the dark wood so highly valued for furniture 
should be called ‘ ‘ rosewood. ’ 5 Its color cer¬ 
tainly does not look much like a rose, so we 
must look for some other reason. Upon ask¬ 
ing, we are told that when the tree is first 
cut the fresh wood possesses a very strong, 
rose-like fragrance—hence the name. There 
are half a dozen or more kinds of rosewood 
trees. The varieties are found in South 
America and in the East Indies and neigh¬ 
boring islands. Sometimes the trees grow 
so large that planks four feet broad and ten 
feet in length can be cut from them. These 
broad planks are principally used to make 
the tops of pianofortes. When growing in 
the forest, the rosewood tree is remarkable 
for its beauty, but such is its value in manu¬ 
facture as an ornamental wood that some of 
the forests where it once grew abundantly 
now have scarcely a single specimen. In 
Madras cultivation of the tree on plantations 
is carried on extensively. 

The Facts and Fables of the Upas Tree. 

The upas is a tree belonging to the bread¬ 
fruit family, which grows on the Island of 
Java. It grows to about 100 feet in height, 
with a straight trunk and rounded head. 
The leaves are oblong, about five inches in 
length. The tree has small white flowers 
and a small purple fruit, like a plum. When 
this tree was first made known, extraordin¬ 
ary stories were told of it by a surgeon in 
the service of the Dutch East India Com¬ 
pany, who published a narrative concerning 
his experience on the island, in 1783. He 
said that the emanations of the tree killed 
all living things near it, even the birds that 
flew over it falling dead ; that criminals con¬ 
demned to death were sent to the tree tp 



CURIOUS THINGS ABOUT WOOD AND TREES 


443 


gather its poisons, and but two out of twenty 
ever returned. He declared that those for¬ 
tunate enough to come back alive assured 
him that the tree grew in a valley, with no 
other living thing, not even a plant or blade 
of grass within miles of it, and that of 1,600 
persons who had been forced by a civil war 
to encamp about fourteen miles from the tree, 
all but 300 died. These stories were accepted 
and repeated, until they were altogether dis¬ 
proved in 1810. Evidently Dr. Foerscli 
must have strangely confounded the upas 
tree with the poison valley, a locality ren¬ 
dered deadly by emanations of carbonic acid 
from rocks in the vicinity. The upas actu¬ 
ally grows in the forest with other trees, and 
no animals show any especial fear of it. Its 
emanations are somewhat poisonous to the 
skin of human beings, but not more so than 
those of the sumach or other similar plants, 
and like these are poisonous to some persons 
and not to others. The juice or sap of the 
tree is poisonous to the blood, and has been 
used by the Javans from time immemorial to 


poison the points of their arrows and spears. 
The substance, when introduced into the 
circulation, acts directly on the principal 
blood-vessels, causing death in a short time 
by congestion. 

The Lace Bark Tree. 

The lace bark tree is a native of Jamaica, 
and is known to the botanist as Lagetta lin- 
tearia. The texture of its inner bark consists 
of numerous concentric layers of fibre inter¬ 
lacing in all directions. From this fibre, 
which may be divided and subdivided until 
it is of the texture of a cobweb, the natives 
make all sorts of curious and ornamental 
articles, such as trimming for hats, doylies, 
centre pieces, toilet sets, etc. 

The fibre is very tough and bears hard 
usage remarkably well. The branches of 
the tree are hollow. The outer bark is a 
mottled brown color and comparatively 
smooth and is easily stripped off, bringing 
the creamy white fibre to view. 


N. B —There are 32 full-page illustrations in this book not 
fohopd. These should be included in estimating the number of 


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